Where's Freedom: A New Beginning
by Ratts
Summary: Sequel to WH: Paul is a broken man that can't let go of his horrible past, but when tragedy strikes and changes everything he thought he once knew, it's hardly his end. It's his new beginning. With the unconditional love of an effeminate prince, a king for a best friend, a palace full of people rooting for him, he learns how to live life to its fullest and all about true love.
1. Chapter 1

_After a long hiatus I have decided to rewrite the sequel I had written for Whispering Heart since so many were unhappy with it. If you read the original version of Where's Freedom, forget every little detail! This is a completely new idea with far less drama and much more fluff!_

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**Where's Freedom: A New Beginning.**  


Blanketed in the shadows of nightfall, Paul Lahote sat slumped over the island in the palace's kitchen. The clock on the stainless steel oven flashed 3:12 AM – the wolf too drunk to care about the early hour. He drank straight from the bottle of one of His Majesty's vintage whiskeys that was likely worth more than his pathetic existence. He scoffed at the glass bottle before he guzzled multiple mouthfuls, feeling rather insulted that something that would inevitably turn to piss was better than him. Then again, Paul felt akin to a steaming pile of shit.

"At least shit has its uses," He grumbled to himself as he lit up a cigarette, the end of it glowing orange.

Paul fell into an easy routine of alternating between gulping amber fluid and sucking smoke into his lungs while carelessly flicking ash to the floor or the cool marble countertop. He startled when light suddenly shone from the crystal chandelier above him, although he wasn't at all surprised when Prince Ryan Black pulled up a seat next to him.

The prince snugly held his fuzzy hot pink robe closed over his chest as if frightened that should his creamy caramel coloured skin makes an appearance it would deeply offend the drunken man in front of him. Nevertheless, Ryan gazed fondly upon his imprint with a hidden air of pain behind his vivid green eyes. He'd known long before he'd ever phased for the first time that Paul would be the man his soul would tie itself to. Yet, what he could have never foreseen was how intricately entwined their souls would become. It wasn't some pretty entrapment, it was tangled knotted mess. The slim golden roots of his soul had fused with Paul's thick ugly black ones – not even in death would they part.

It wasn't that Paul's soul was dark, no, quite the contrary. Angry and broken as Paul was, he remained beautiful inside and out. His soul was simply a stormy sea tarnished by an oil spill. The life inside it was dying, and had already been mostly dead by the time the Ryan had arrived. The young man though motivated, hardly had the provisions for a cleanup of an area so large and destroyed. He was but one man, and despite what fairy tales had led him to believe, no amount of love was powerful enough to fix a sleeping beauty. Ryan certainly was a prince, but that didn't make his kiss magical.

Paul swallowed a mouthful of whiskey before filling his lungs with cancerous smoke as he shuddered uncomfortably under Ryan's intense gaze. His angel always had a way of looking at him like he was everything that was right in to world. In reality, Paul knew himself to be the exact opposite. He was a disgusting and discarded piece of evidence that men are very capable of doing sick things to one another.

Paul sighed, smoke rising from his lungs as he forced himself to turn his head and look at the prince. He instantly wished he hadn't. He didn't feel at all deserving to be in the presence of someone so precious, so pure, and who had a heart that knew nothing but kindness. Ryan was so breathtakingly gorgeous, and not just in the superficial sense. He was untarnished by the woes of life, which more often than not left Paul astounded by the young man's sheer optimism. Life to the prince was something to be thankful for, to be cherished, and not to be taken for granted. Though, Ryan had yet to learn what Paul knew to be fact. Life wasn't some priceless gift, it wasn't some beautifully mystic thing, it was a curse.

Paul guiltily swallowed more of the alcoholic liquid, desperate to make his pretty imprint nothing but a blur in front of him. There wasn't enough shame in the world to add up to the amount Paul felt for imprinting on a six year old child. However, the person staring back at him with utter love and devotion wasn't a child anymore, he was a twenty-one year old man – a man like no other.

Paul wasn't exactly sure how it was possible for a male to be so enrapturing. Although, the prince hardly resembled a man, but rather something in between that and a woman. Ryan's brown satiny tresses that often hung in waves were currently tied to the back of his head in a messy bun, a few loose strands framing his face. Yet, it was the freckled bridge of his button nose that reminded Paul of Ryan's former youth. However, the prince's full sultry lips reminded him nothing of the sort. Those pink luscious lips were a provocative sight indeed and entirely too sinful. Paul didn't blame his angel for bearing such a debauched display, but he did automatically want to wear the blood of any man that wanted to take pleasure in their company. His angel was a virgin, and Paul would kill to keep him that way.

Ryan recognized the fearless expression that Paul abruptly donned. The cogs of Paul's mind were rapidly turning and had somehow churned up the feeling of possession. Paul was naturally a possessive wolf and the prince couldn't blame him, not with his imprint being a prisoner to his own history. It at times, however, could feel a bit like Ryan was being smothered… a bit like he was suffocating. Ryan held no resentment for his wolf, although the amount of times he'd physically had to pull Paul off another male for giving him a look Paul didn't approve of soared in the dozens.

The violently protective behaviour began when Ryan hit puberty. Before only a select few men were threats, then suddenly every man was. Every glance his way was one of a predator, every smile a lecherous one, and if a boy somehow managed to get close enough to ask him out on a date, Paul pitched such a fit Ryan didn't dare go. Ryan's parents, of course, encouraged him to meet guys and girls of all sorts, though Paul made it next to impossible. He scared everybody away, even the females. Yet, on the rare occasion Ryan had managed to leave the palace without Paul in tow, all he could imagine was the poor man sitting in his tiny room full of labels and colour coordination sick with worry for him, and it in turn made the prince just as sick with guilt, if not more so, and he'd inevitably quickly return home.

As if clockwork, Prince Ryan shifted into his wolf form for the first time on his sixteenth birthday, only to imprint on Paul Lahote when he blew out his birthday candles – all his previous birthday wishes come true. Paul may have hindered his social life, but he was still his mate: a fact Ryan had known since he was a small child. Later that same evening his parents sat him down, informing him that Paul had imprinted on him many years prior. With that knowledge, everything about Paul's behaviour made sense, and it all felt like destiny until the wolf went and opened his big mouth, proclaiming that he wasn't Ryan's mate, but something else entirely, of which Paul hadn't a clue. A body guard? A best friend? A big brother? Those were all good suggestions, Ryan bitterly supposed. But he had countless body guards, a best friend named Emily Uley, and a wonderful big brother, James Yorkie-Black – a sweet, if not strange little boy the kings adopted when Ryan was eight and James ten.

The prince had everything he could ever possibly want or need, except a mate. Paul's denial was frustrating, yet understandable. What wasn't understandable was that Paul expected his imprint to go through life alone, that what Paul had to offer was enough. Ryan had vague memories of Paul speaking about him one day growing up, marrying a pretty woman, and having lots of puppies. Ryan marrying a woman was absurd in and of itself, even as a wee boy, but Paul's opinion on that matter at least seemed to have waned. Although, of course, for Paul's precious imprint, a man would never suffice, and eventually Paul was of the firm belief that Ryan was too good for anybody, that he simply didn't need a lover and their platonic imprint was enough to fill any sort of void Ryan might have. Paul desired nothing more than for his angel to simply go through life as an untainted, beautiful virgin. Ryan didn't like that idea, and he frequently wondered if his wolf purposely tuned his voice out when he expressed his discontentment with their arrangement.

Ryan shook the negative thoughts from his mind. It didn't matter what he wanted. What mattered was his imprint. He'd be whatever Paul needed him to be, and what Paul needed him to be was an angel. A ray of light. A sign of hope. A reason to live. It was a lot of pressure, though the young prince took it in stride and smiled faintly at Paul as the drunken wolf puffed on the shrinking cigarette. When spotting no pity in the smile, Paul tried to return it, though only managed to look as if he were grimacing.

"Are you aware of just how darling you are to me?" Ryan queried, his soft masculine voice having the barest hint of a feminine lilt. Paul nodded, perhaps a bit dumbly as he looked off to the side, refusing to meet the prince's gaze once more.

Ryan reached out to caress Paul's stubbly copper cheek, and much to the prince's pleasure his imprint indulged him by letting his face fall into his palm to give it a nuzzle. "I don't know what I pity more," Ryan sighed. "Your poor old liver, or myself for being awake at this ungodly hour."

Paul rolled his glassy brown eyes as he dropped his cigarette into one of the many empty beer bottles strewn about in front of him. Smoke wafted through the brown glass lip of the bottle, the sound of the fiery orange tip sizzling as it faded on the damp bottom. "I'm not that old," he slurred, taking a swift gulp of whiskey. "Still handsome as ever."

"Got that right," Ryan quipped as he cocked his head, gently moving Paul's head by the chin from one side to the other to observe his dark features. "You're thirty-four and don't look, what, a day over nineteen? Twenty?" he mused. "How old do I look? I'm still cute as a button, right?"

Paul gave his imprint a lopsided grin. "You're stunning."

The prince snorted indignantly, yet playfully. "And you're drunk."

Paul took a swig of whiskey and curtly nodded. "You're stunning even when I'm not drunk." His words were garbled and unclear, though Ryan didn't struggle to decipher them. Paul had made a habit of being intoxicated and his incoherent speech had become an unfortunate and distinctly piteous second language that they both spoke fluently in.

Paul shifted closer, his eyes becoming intently focused on Ryan as he tightly gripped his shoulder over the pink material of his housecoat. "You're mine, you know." It was a statement, not a question, nevertheless Ryan nodded.

"I know."

"All mine," the wolf practically growled.

Ryan nodded once more. "I'm all yours, Paul."

"I won't share."

"I'd never expect you to."

Paul shook his head, snarling to himself like he had something painful stuck inside it and was trying to shake it loose. "But your _fucking _parents, they expect… they expect me to, to…" he was struggling to find the words, or perchance just didn't want to say them, didn't want to think them. "To- to let you go. Let some sick pervert put his filthy hands all over you! I won't… won't allow it, Ryan. No goddamn way! You're mine and I'll keep you safe, keep you pure, and clean, and happy. Keep you untouched… unspoiled… undefiled." Paul's hand roughly clenched Ryan's shoulder causing the young wolf prince to wince in pain. "If any man tried to hurt you… kiss you… use your body to satisfy his own… I'd, well, I'd kill him. I'd fucking _kill_ him. I'd kill him for _you_, Ryan. I'd do anything for you. I promise." And that was a good example of one of the many reasons why Ryan had never dated. Paul would never lie to him, his word was as good as gold, and the prince felt no need to create a serial killer which specialized in murdering handsome young men that fancied kissing girly princes.

Ryan had to look away from his wolf as he sucked in a deep, unsteady breath to calm himself. "You're beyond paranoid. You act like every man has hidden rapist tendencies and is just dying to jump my bones. Despite what you may think I am not everybody's cup of tea. Most gay men want to date _men_. I may be male, but I'm not exactly bursting with testosterone here. I've had lesbians flirt with me. _Lesbians_, Paul."

Paul glared at the prince, agony warping his handsome features. "You'd get torn apart in prison!" he raged while stumbling to his feet and pointing at Ryan with an unsteady hand. "Men are sick! They're sadistic!" he cried. "Don't you understand what they'd do to you?!" He exclaimed with hot, angry tears gathering along the rims of his eyes. "I've seen what men do to one another when they think they're without consequence. I've fel…" He abruptly halted his slurred speech, mouth hanging open for a moment before he blinked away his tears and forced himself to continue where he left off. "_Felt_ what they do to one another. I barely lasted six fucking months, but you, Ryan, you wouldn't last a goddamn week!"

Ryan silently slipped off his stool and pressed his warm, dainty hands that had freshly manicured nails to Paul's cotton clad chest. In essence, this really had nothing to do with Ryan. It was all about Paul, and Ryan couldn't believe it took himself until this very moment to realize that. He'd always understood that what happened in Paul's past was what made him so protective, though what he'd failed to notice was that Paul's body may have physically been removed from prison, but his mind never left. He was still there. Still that scared puppy trapped in a cage with evil men, except now, his imprint was there with him. When an unknown male approached Ryan it wasn't a potential friend, it was another inmate.

The prince gently slid his arms around Paul's waist and rested his cheek on the midsection of a taut, muscular chest – the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to the thin cotton fibers of Paul's sleeveless shirt. Ryan didn't know what to say, so instead he said nothing at all. Soon enough he felt his imprint's bulky arms tightly wrap their way around his slim shoulders. "I'll keep you safe," Paul mumbled, arms squeezing possessively as he dipped his head so he could nuzzle his nose into the prince's strawberry scented hair. "I'll never let a man touch you, angel."

"I know," Ryan sighed, lithe fingers tracing comforting circles over his wolf's brawny back.

"You're mine. You have me and I have you. That's all we need," Paul's voice was thick with emotion, as if he didn't quite believe what he was saying. "Right?"

Ryan strained his neck to look up at Paul's face, though catching sight of tears on his imprint's cheeks made his heart ache. Ryan frowned, lifting a hand to wipe away the evidence of Paul's hurt. "_Right_?" the wolf repeated. "It'll always be just us. The two of us. You and me."

The prince nodded. "You and me, Paul. Always."

A rare smile donned Paul's lips. It was barely there, yet it still made the prince's heart flutter. "I love you," he murmured while tucking a chaste kiss into Ryan's hair.

The prince exhaled a heavy breath of air and closed his eyes. "Please. More," he breathlessly begged. "Give me more kisses." His words didn't fall on deaf ears, and his own sparkling tears gathered behind the lids of his eyes when he felt Paul's rough callused palms cradle his face as if something precious and delicate.

When soft warm lips pressed to his forehead his breath stuttered, and when another kiss was placed on the curve of his elegant cheekbone he forgot how to breathe entirely. The prince's eyes slowly opened, curled long lashes fanning gracefully, and he was able to watch his wolf lean in to touch perfect lips to the tip of his freckled nose.

"I love you too," Ryan's speech was barely above a whisper, but it didn't matter, Paul heard him. Paul knew what the young prince's heart and soul felt – Ryan, himself, could practically hear them screaming the words for him.

Bittersweet tears escaped him when a final kiss was laid by the corner of his mouth. Ryan could have almost sworn Paul's lips faintly brushed the edge of his own; it made his heart both beat with desire and dread. Desire because he so desperately wanted to feel his imprint's lips upon his own, and dread since he knew he never would.

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_So, what did you think? Are you sticking around for the second chapter?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Paul woke feeling like he'd just wrestled a double-decker bus and lost. Worse yet, he also woke with an aching sense of need between his thighs – when realization of this struck, bile rose from his stomach and covered the back of his tongue with a sick taste. He growled to himself as he rolled over onto his back and ran a hand down the length of his body, setting it upon the large bulge in his baggy grey sweatpants. He felt the soft give of his testicles, rolling the two egg like lumps in his palm before curling his fingers around them and squeezing with all his might.

Paul hissed through the pain as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. "You're disgusting," he snarled to himself, digging his fingernails through the cotton material and into his sensitive flesh. "Pervert," he quietly added, not understanding how despite all his body's abuse it could still behave like this.

Paul twisted his wrist causing his entire self to tense in pain. He whimpered, face contorting with agony, yet to his great relief his erection had waned, leaving him flaccid. "Whore," he spat through gritted teeth. It was the only answer he had as to why his body would betray him like this. He was a whore. A used, dirty whore.

When he deemed it safe to let go of himself he quickly sat up, kicking his feet over the edge of the bed as he leaned forward to grab his pack of smokes that were on his night stand by a tall glass of water and two aspirin. Paul sighed to himself, apparently Ryan had put him to bed… _again_. He hadn't the foggiest memory of it, though most nights were like that. He preferred it that way. With his mind muddled he didn't dream, and if he didn't dream he couldn't have nightmares. He couldn't stand to watch his imprint be stripped and beaten, spread apart and used. He'd beg the men in orange jumpsuits to take him instead. Many did, but most didn't, and to hear the screams of his angel, be it imaginary or not, was not a sound he could live with.

He downed the aspirin that had a neat little label in Ryan's pretty script indicating what it was, same goes for the water. He didn't technically need the labels, he just liked them. It made everything organized, it made him have control. Plus, seeing the labels Ryan wrote for him always made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside – he loved the way his imprint dotted his I's with miniature hearts. It was sweet, and cute, and so typically Ryan.

After finishing the water Paul lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply to feel the full burn – its package also bearing a label stuck to the nightstand. Smoke wafted toward the ceiling of his small room, though its size was how he liked it. Too small and it felt like he was stuck in a cage, yet too big and he felt trapped in the great wide open… too vulnerable. As it was, his room was perfect and everything was precise.

Across from him and the single bed he sat upon was a computer desk, while between the bed and desk, and to his right, was the door that led to the bathroom and closet. To his left against the far wall, was a bookshelf that spanned the entire length of it. Excluding the picture he had framed of Ryan as just a wee pup, it was his favourite possession.

With a huff of breath, Paul got up, cigarette between shamefully soft lips and trudged over to the shelf. He ran the tips of his russet fingers over the colourful spines. All the books were organized by colour, then alphabetically. It was a bit confusing to get used to at first, but when the books had been sorted alphabetically it was like looking inside a disorganized box of crayons. It drove Paul mad. The colours weren't in their proper places. Now they were, and he had many beautiful rainbows to show for it, which honestly reminded him of Ryan. It was worth the confusion.

A small smile came to play on Paul's mouth as he traced a finger over the silver frame that held the image of a beautiful puppy that had a face of an angel. Ryan had been ridiculously adorable and preciously small at such a young age, still was both those things if truth be told. _Yet_, everything was different now. Things were once so simple.

Once upon a better time things were all colouring books, board games and puzzles. The zoo was fun, tickle fights were awesome, and a picnic outside never failed to please the little guy. But, he grew… colouring books became text books, board games evolved into video games, and puzzles were the mystery of dating and boyfriends. Which, of course, would only happen over Paul's dead body.

However, Ryan continued to grow even more. The textbooks were gone and replaced with online classes, he didn't have time for games anymore, and sex was likely one of the most prominent things on his mind. Paul's imprint had rapidly grown into a twenty-one year old man, and he didn't have a fucking clue what he was supposed to do with him. Ryan was too old for everything. His angel couldn't sit in his lap for cuddles, Paul couldn't tuck him in at night, and he certainly couldn't get away with blowing raspberries on his belly.

With melancholic emotions nipping at his bones, Paul had to look away from the picture. He slumped over on the cushion by his bay window, which he opened and flicked the cigarette out of. He couldn't help but reminisce, although that only exchanged his depression for fury. He'll never get over how the tabloids ripped him to shreds when news of the prince's imprint, and his own, reached the media. Paul was no longer _just_ the pathetic wolf that had been raped by many in prison, _no_, he was also the monster that imprinted on a five year old puppy.

For months all Paul would see on television and in magazines was his face and in big bold letters: **pedophile**. He couldn't leave the palace without guards, and he genuinely feared for his life. Sometimes he had wished the crowds would've gotten past the guards and just fucking took it. Wolves, vampires, and humans alike slandered him and screamed obscenities in his face. Like a church bell, _pedophile_, _pedophile_, _pedophile_, had rung constantly in his ears. He heard the bells so frequently he began to believe it.

Paul started questioning every time he had ever touched the prince as a child. _Why_ had he been touching him? Should he not have been touching him? Did he like it in some sort of sick way? Had he been scaring Ryan? Did he force contact upon Ryan? Did he scar his imprint for fucking life?! The list of questions was endless and Paul drove himself crazy with them. He felt exactly what everybody was calling him, a dirty pervert, and although it was five years later that feeling never left him.

Paul leaned his head against the window and gazed out at the ocean, overcast skies making the water look a dreary dark blue. The wolf knew in his heart he'd never in his life had a sexual thought about Ryan. Well… that wasn't entirely true – those lips. It was always those lips. Not even an asexual monk could be immune, Paul was positive of that. It wasn't even that he imagined his imprints lips in indecent ways, he just wondered from time to time what it would feel like to brush the pad of his thumb across the lower one. Would it make him shiver if they nibbled at his neck?

"Don't think like that," Paul whispered to himself. "You're dirty… polluted… _revolting_." If his angel knew the disgusting things that had been done to him… but Ryan _did_ know. "He doesn't understand," Doesn't understand what Paul had looked like in prison, smelled like. If the wolf pressed his nose to any part of his body and deeply inhaled, he swore he could still scent all those men and their fluids on him… _in_ him. Ryan couldn't see his stains, his scars, though that didn't make them any less real. He was haunted, possessed, and no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin the men were still there, right beneath the surface. They owned him, they'd always own him, because Paul was _weak_, he was their _bitch_.

A loud _rap_, _rap_, _rap_ sounded on the door across the room as it swung open. Paul quickly shrouded his ugly thoughts in opaque, impenetrable darkness because there is only one man in the palace that annoyingly knocks at the same time he opens a door. "Your Grace," Paul grumbled, sticking yet another cigarette between his lips and lighting it – quickly tucking both the package and his zippo back in the pocket of his sweats.

"What have I said about _not_ smoking indoors?" Edward chastised with his pale nose wrinkled in distaste.

"What have I said about not giving a shit about your fucking rules?"

The handsome vampire sighed; he didn't understand why the wolf had to be a pain in the ass at every given opportunity. "Right, of course," Edward muttered as he closed the door behind him. "I forgot you're impervious to king's orders." His dark eyebrows furrowed inquisitively, "Why is that again?"

"Someone's gotta keep your ego in check," Paul teased.

Edward laughed, throwing his head back as he did. "What ego?!" He merrily exclaimed.

Paul's bistre brown eyes brightened as the barest hint of a smile curved the rosy corners of his mouth. "Exactly! You're welcome!"

The king grinned at his friend as he took a seat beside him, plucking the cigarette from between callused fingers. He hung his arm out the window crumpling the smoke in his pallid hand, fiery tip included, before letting it's remains flutter to the grass a few storeys down. "No smoking indoors. My home my rules."

Paul rolled his eyes. "I was here first."

Edward shot the wolf a playful glare, shiny orbs a brilliant scarlet. "Do me this favour, please. The smell honestly gives me a headache."

Paul nodded, resilience crumbling. "Fine," he huffed. "Sorry," he added, albeit it a bit shamefaced and pink cheeked.

Edward's smile turned crooked and he opened his arms to the wolf. "Shut up and give me a hug, you big old mutt!" Paul didn't have to be told twice, he practically flung himself into his best friend's arms – _only_ _friend_.

"Three months was too long," he mumbled into a wintry neck as he nuzzled his face against the cool white flesh. "Never leave again."

The vampire chuckled, deep and rich, and wrapped his arms around Paul's wide bare shoulders. "You sound like my husband, but as I told him, I had to go. James was ready to be turned and I felt taking him away to the mountains and having him feed only on animals without the distraction of regular blood for his first few months was the best way to go about things. Newborns are, well, you know, but he'll be fine. You can trust him to keep his teeth to himself."

"I don't trust perverts!" Paul snarled, ripping himself from the king's grip.

"James is hardly a pervert," Edward stated, though his tone showed the rising level of his exasperation.

"Once a pervert, always a pervert."

"He was a child!" Edward hissed. "And you very well know that I didn't like him much more than you did when he first started hanging around, but he grew one me, you know? He just needed a family to love him."

"He had Eric," Paul rebuffed. "His _brother_."

"Eric's an idiot. James needed parents, and nobody was going to adopt him with said idiot in the background."

Paul shook his head, incensed. "Before you even considered adoption I caught him with his clammy human hands down Ryan's swim trunks! He's sick!"

"And you're not?!" Edward raged. "You hit a nine year old in the face and tried to drown him in the fucking pool!"

"He was molesting my imprint!" Paul hollered, rising to his feet to glare heatedly down at the foolish and all too forgiving leech.

"Oh my God, Paul! Are we really going to do this?" Edward snapped through gritted teeth, him rising to his feet as well to be on equal footing with the wolf. "How many times do I have to tell you that it was _Ryan_ who asked James to touch him?"

"And whose fault is that?!" The wolf snarled.

Edward gave a shake of his head and scowled at his friend. "Oh no, don't you dare blame me for that! They were just being curious boys."

"You're a whore, Edward!" Paul shouted, shocking the king. "You've been Jacob's whore since the day he _bought_ you. How long did it take for you to willingly spread your legs for him? A year? Six months? Oh, no, wait, it was just a measly week. You couldn't keep your cold dead hands off Jacob, and Ryan saw that. He saw you two kissing and petting each other, getting all hot and bothered. It's just sick behaviour, especially in front of a child. It's only because of _me_ that Ryan isn't slutting it up like the cheap _tramp_ his dad is!" He pointed at his person, jabbing himself in the chest. "I was the only good role model my angel had! The palace is hardly a palace at all; it's a goddamn whorehouse for _faggot _sodomites!"

It was barely a second after Paul finished his hateful rant that an icy fist connected with his nose with a sickening crack. With a pained groan, he fell to his knees from the force of the blow at the same time his large hands came up to cup his nose. Blood poured from his nostrils and oozed between his fingers, dripping to the floor and staining his once impeccably white carpet.

"Say what you will about me, but don't you dare bring _either_ of my sons into your bigoted tirades." Despite being furious, Edward spoke calmly and with clarity. It reminded Paul of the king the vampire _is_. "I'm not going to apologize for liking sex, and I'm certainly not sorry my parenting wasn't up to _your_ standards. I did the best I knew how, as did Jacob, and judging by how our two boys turned out I think we did a pretty good job. Neither of them are like _you_, so I'd call that a success."

_Like me? _Paul thought to himself. There were far too many things Edward could have meant by that. He understood the basic message, though. Edward, his very best friend, the only person he trusted entirely besides his imprint, was grateful Ryan was nothing like him, and although Paul knew he wasn't a very good person, the message still stung his heart.

In all the years he'd know the vampire – sixteen to be exact – Paul had never thought highly of himself, never thought he was worth anything, always felt like he was garbage that the prison had chewed up and spit out. He felt used, soul torn to dirty shreds, skin slimy, and insides rotten. He honestly felt he'd be better off dead. Yet, during those years Edward was there, always telling him the opposite, telling he was, in fact, worth something. Paul couldn't bring himself to believe the vampire, but he wanted to. He wanted to believe there was someone who could truly think he deserved happiness and was worth more than the men in prison made him feel. He wanted to believe that someone thought the world needed him in it, that he was good for something. He wanted to believe someone else loved him because he couldn't love himself. However, Paul had been wary. He didn't really think Edward meant the things he said, especially when the king said he loved him. If it sounded too good to be true, it usually was.

_Neither of them are like you, so I'd call that a success_. That simple, though hurtful sentence solidified Paul's worries. Edward didn't love him… _couldn't_ love him, not someone like him. He meant nothing to Edward. He was just a thing. A disgusting, used, unsightly thing, and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe Ryan thought the same thing. Did Ryan cringe every time he touched him? Did he feel dirty after Paul hugged him? Was it their shared imprint that made Ryan care for him? If Ryan had freewill in the matter would he have long since abandoned Paul?

His earlier nausea returned at the mere thought that his angel might want nothing to do with him if he had the choice. Was Paul, in essence, forcing himself upon Ryan? Had all his affections gone unwanted? His stomach rolled uncomfortably as he pondered if he'd become his own nightmare. Was he no better than the men in prison? Had he, in his own way, raped his angel?

Edward watched as the wolf fell forward, his bloody hands flat to the carpet to hold himself up. His nose bled freely onto the floor and the sight filled the vampire with guilt. He didn't actually mean to hit him, it just sort of happened, and what he said… "Paul," Edward murmured while combing his snowy-white and just as cold fingers through his wild auburn hair. "I didn't mean-" His apology was cut short when Paul's stomach suddenly heaved and emptied itself onto the carpet.

"Paul!" Edward exclaimed in worry as he dropped to kneel by Paul and press a calming hand to his overheated copper shoulder blade. "What happened? What's going on? Let me inside your head."

The wolf continued to gag, his stomach painfully contracting even when there was nothing left to be rid of. Nevertheless, he managed to give his head a swift shake and hold onto his thoughts even tighter. The last thing he wanted was Edward poking around in his brain.

A few minutes later when Paul's stomach finally decided to settle, Edward automatically went into dad mode. It didn't matter that Paul was a grown man and a good friend, sometimes the man just needed the tenderness that was a parent. "Come on, get up," The vampire insisted, tugging on the wolf's bulky arm to get him to his feet. "Let me help you get cleaned up."

"I don't want your help," Paul snapped, trying to wrench his arm away from the king – it was a frivolous action.

Edward sighed as he hauled the big oafish wolf to his feet all by himself. "I would've thought you'd have learned by now that it doesn't matter whether you want my help or not, you just damn well get it. No ifs, ands, or buts, Paul. No complaining. Just shut up and let me do my thing." Paul didn't respond and he remained silent as Edward gently guided him into the bathroom, sitting him down on the closed toilet seat. "Do you want a bath or shower?"

"Bath," Paul begrudgingly grumbled.

In no time Edward had the wolf wearing green swim trunks and soaking in bubbly lavender scented water. Getting the wolf to bathe nude, even alone, would be like trying to pull a lion's tooth without sedation – it just wasn't going to happen. From what Edward understood, Paul didn't like the look of his genitals. There was nothing wrong with them, he just found the sight discomforting, nauseating... _disturbing_. Edward figured it would be like a person who'd been shot having an aversion to guns, except Paul always went above and beyond what would be the logical response. How Paul feared his own cock, Edward couldn't fathom. Being frightened of someone else's the king could comprehend, but being afraid of his own damn dick? No, Paul was downright crazy.

"I'm sorry," Edward sighed as he pressed a warm washcloth to his friend's nose, causing the wolf to wince and hiss in pain. "I shouldn't have hit you."

The wolf shrugged. "Whatever."

Sitting on the ledge of the tub, Edward scooted a little closer to the wolf and carefully scrubbed away the blood. "About what I said-"

"Forget about it," Paul interjected.

Edward shook his head. "No, I won't forget about it. You said some pretty terrible things which I reacted badly to, but you gotta know I didn't mean what I said," he earnestly stated, though Paul only replied with yet another shrug. "You're a good guy, Paul. You have a lot of qualities I'd want both my boys to have."

Paul's head jerked up to look at Edward, his eyes filling with something that far surpassed hope. "Yeah? Like what?"

Edward grinned and wiped away the blood above the wolf's lips and the chin below them, dark bruising beginning to set in beneath both his bistre brown eyes. "How about you tell me, what are some of your good qualities?"

Paul stiffened and his eyes immediately dropped to his knees poking out of the water. He shrugged for a third time. "Dunno."

"You think about it and get back to me." Paul glanced at the vampire out of the corner of his eye and a little smile donned his lips. Maybe Edward loved him after all. Edward knew the hideous things Paul thought about himself, and he also knew whatever positive thing he said about Paul, Paul wouldn't believe. Edward wanted the wolf to draw his own conclusions, to actually believe he had good qualities and not just be told he did. If Paul was going to truly have confidence in all the things he had to offer, then he needed to figure out those things for himself.

"Well, for one, I'm not retarded, Ed. I see what you're doing."

"Smart is definitely a good quality to have," Edward said with a chuckle, tossing the cloth to Paul's chest and pulling himself to his feet. "Now you keep thinking while you wash up, but do it quick. I'm making brunch, so hurry on down to the kitchen. You know how eager Ryan gets to see you in the morning."


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Paul generally liked the beach. The air was sweet and salty, the cool breeze on a hot day was to die for and the sound of gulls wasn't necessarily a bad one. Today, _well_, today was different. Today he hated the beach. Heaven had turned into hell, and Ryan looked like sin itself. He wore nothing more than skin tight Rufskin swim trunks that just barely covered his rather shapely ass. Paul had quickly searched the brand on his smartphone and instantly decided the trunks were catered toward queer strippers and whores.

Normally, when Paul looked at his imprint he didn't see much more than genderless beauty and love – not today, however. The bathing suit, if it could even be called that, displayed every line, crease, and _bulge_. They also sat so scandalously low that Paul knew beyond a doubt that Ryan had to have shaved at least part of his pubes. The only saving grace for the entire situation was that he and the prince were on private palace property and the only ones present on beach. Had that not been the case Paul was certain he'd have been thrown in purgatory for gouging out eyes of horny perverts and innocents alike.

Paul tried not stare, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Ryan didn't look like other male wolves. He wasn't bulky or broad shouldered. His waist was slim, his hips almost femininely curved, and his abs were barely there along with his tiny pectorals. Also, Paul surmised the wolf's pubes weren't the only part of him shaved. There wasn't a single hair on his smooth creamy caramel legs, nor under his arms. Who was the prince trying to impress? It unnerved the wolf.

"Your back is looking a little pink, maybe you should put your clothes back on," Paul suggested, trying his damnedest not to demand it.

Ryan chuckled and shook his head, his bare back arching as he lifted himself onto his elbows from where he was sprawled on a striped purple towel. "We just got here," he said, dragging a wicker picnic basket through the sand to fetch the sunscreen inside of it. "If you're so concerned," he continued, a smirk donning his plump rosy lips as he tossed over the lotion to the wolf. "Lube me up."

Paul eyed his imprint suspiciously. Something was off. Ryan had never previously worn such skimpy swim trunks, nor was he one to make vile innuendos. Plus, the way he bit his bottom lip and gazed intently at the wolf was alarming to say the least, as was the way he twirled the end of his French braid between two slim lithe fingers. It simply wasn't right. Ryan did look beautiful though, albeit wickedly so, especially with the few pink cherry blossoms tucked into his hair.

Paul leaned in close and sniffed the air surrounding the prince, immediately scowling when he recognized the scent. "You're aroused."

Ryan blushed, shamefaced, and instantly looked away from the wolf. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Why are you aroused?" Paul didn't simply ask, he demanded an answer.

As if a scolded puppy, Ryan cowered as he sat up, draping a spare towel around his shoulders since he suddenly felt uncomfortable in his own sun-kissed and freckled skin. "I don't know…" he shrugged, forcing his eyes to the wolf that sat in the sand beside him, leaning up against a log wearing only a baggy pair of tan cargo shorts. "You've been looking better. Ever since dad got rid of all the alcohol in the palace, demanding it being a 'dry environment', you haven't looked as tired. You've been more with it, too. More focused." _And angry, irritable, and anxious._

Paul's gaze turned heated. "I'm still pissed about that, you know? You had no right to tell him I'd been drinking."

Ryan nodded, eyes falling away from the wolf. "I know, I'm sorry. I was worried."

"You didn't need to be worry. I had it under control."

"It didn't seem like it," Ryan quietly retorted, voice barely heard above the steady rush of the ocean's waves. "You'd have done the same thing if roles were reversed."

"Whatever," Paul said, shaking his head. "It's over and done with. Don't talk about me to your dad and stop thinking dirty thoughts." Ryan's head snapped up to look at his imprint. No dirty thoughts about a half-naked, gorgeous wolf, bathing in the sun? Easier said than done. "You're better than that." Paul added.

Ryan nodded once again in contrived agreement. "I'm sorry, Paul. I'll try harder. I didn't mean to behave like-"

"A _slut_?" Paul interjected. The prince's jaw dropped, that wasn't what he was going to say at all.

"I was going to say hormonal teenage boy," Ryan barely uttered, rather certain it'd actually become impossible to make eye contact with his imprint. He couldn't bear the thought of revulsion which was sure to be written all over his handsome face.

"You're not a teenager anymore, Ryan!" Paul shouted at him. "You're a fucking man! Learn to control yourself! Do you even know what you look like right now?" Ryan meekly shook his head. "Like you belong on a street corner giving five dollar blowjobs!"

The prince gasped. "I do not!"

"You do!" Paul bellowed. "You look disgraceful and worthless, you should be covered up. Nobody should get to see your skin, not even me."

"What do you want me to do, Paul?" Ryan bitterly muttered, eyes stuck to his lap. "Buy myself a fucking burka?"

The wolf swiftly moved closer to Ryan, pressing a warm hand to his imprint's chin to force him to meet his gaze. "You're an angel, Ryan. _My_ angel. You don't need or want sex, you just think you do. Monkey see, monkey do, you know? I don't blame you for having deviant thoughts, not with growing up with two fathers. I know they love you, but what they have together is wrong. It's sick and twisted, and should be reviled by all. You understand that, don't you?" Ryan wanted to scream, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs that he wasn't an angel, that he never was an angel, and never wanted to be an angel! He wanted to hit Paul, he wanted to hit him so damn hard for saying such foul things about his parents, but, in the end, he couldn't… and would never. He wouldn't say or do anything. Paul needed his imprint to be an angel more than Ryan needed the satisfaction of saying how he really felt.

"I'm gay, Paul," the prince breathed, forest green eyes glossy with tears. "Does that mean I should be reviled too?"

Paul's gaze turned earnest and he fervently shook his head, cupping Ryan's cheeks. "No, sweetheart, no! Being gay isn't wrong, only acting on it is. But you've got so much good in you. You know right from wrong, and you know what your parents have is unnatural. You could never be like them, could you?"

Ryan's face contorted with strife as he let out a sob. "No," he wept, "I'd never be like them." But he wanted to be. He wanted to love and be loved, both mentally and physically. He wanted marriage and puppies, family photos, and children's birthday parties. He wanted to make Easter baskets for his little ones, fill stockings with goodies for Christmas, and paint little pudgy faces on Halloween. He wanted a man to kiss on New Year's Eve under the brightness of fireworks. He wanted a husband to feed chocolate covered strawberries to on Valentine's Day. He wanted to make love to his imprint every night before bed and fall asleep in a tangled heap of limbs in post orgasmic bliss. He wanted it _all_, but he wished he wanted nothing. He wished he could be exactly what Paul wanted. He wished he was just some asexual drone that could peacefully ignore Paul's growing insanity and be happy with what he had… be grateful that he had Paul at all.

* * *

King Jacob Ephraim Black, alpha of alphas, and husband to Edward Anthony Black – the sexiest undead man in the whole fucking kingdom – was in a damn good mood! He'd gotten his cock good and wet that morning, twice that afternoon, and he was positive more nookie was to come once he hit the hay. Not only that, he was a proud papa of a newborn leech that was absolutely thriving. He'd worried at first when James arrived home that sharp teeth might latch onto something they shouldn't, but it had been a month and so far things were perfect. His bouncing baby bloodsucker made daddy proud – he should have known, James had always been a kiss ass when it came to family.

Sitting at the dinner table with a mountain of food rivaling the size Everest on his plate, he couldn't help but grin a grin that would make the Grinch himself jealous. Although, the brilliance of it started to fade when his puppy entered the room, shoulders slumped as he took his usual seat beside Paul which was directly in front of him. "What's with the turtleneck?" Jacob questioned. "It's the middle of the goddamn summer."

Ryan shrugged and poked miserably at the food Paul had dished for him. "I was cold."

"Cold?"

Ryan nodded. "Cold."

"Are you feeling ill?" His father queried.

Ryan sighed and lifted his eyes from his plate to meet the king's. "Daddy, I'm fine."

Jacob quirked a dark disbelieving brow and turn his attention upon the wolf beside him. "This your doing?"

"I think he looks good," Paul said, sparing a glance his imprint's way and nodding in appreciation.

Jacob glowered at the wolf. "Really? I think he looks absurd. It's the fucking summer," he flicked his vision back to his son. "Go put on something cooler – I don't want you getting heat stroke or some shit. How about you put on that Lady Hoo Ha tank top you loved so much when you were a teen?"

Ryan's nose scrunched in both disgust and amusement. "Oh my God, daddy, it's Lady _GaGa_!"

Jacob rolled his eyes, like he could keep up with that shit. "Whatever, go put it on." He said with a flick of his wrist, dismissing the boy. He wanted his puppy to wear that ratty old shirt since it was baggy and the armpits hung low on the thing, so with only slight movement on his son's part his rosy little nipples would show – it was sure to perturb Paul, which is exactly what the king wanted.

The prince gave his imprint a sheepish grin and an apologetic shrug before taking off to his room. "I think the black sweater is far more appropriate for dinner," Paul put in when it was just the two of them left at the table, everybody else taking there sweet ass time to get there. The king wasn't one to wait and let his food get cold, however.

Jacob huffed and took a large bite of ham, chewing obnoxiously. "Well, then let's thank fuck I'm king and you're not," he proclaimed with feigned enthusiasm. "There's no such thing as appropriate around here. Got a problem with that?"

"Actually I do."

The king snorted in mock surprise. _Of course the wolf had a problem with it_. "Dude, save it. You go looking for trouble. I'm sure if you tried hard enough you'd find something provocative about a nun's robe." He pointed at Paul's food with his fork. "Eat, I don't want to hear you talk." It was an order, not a request. Without another option, Paul's eyes fell to his food and he grabbed a spoon full of potatoes.

"Oh, and Paul?" Jacob added, the wolf's eyes darting back to his. "Don't forget who your superiors are. Ryan's one of them."

"I know that."

"Then start acting like it."

By the time Ryan returned, he was feeling much peppier in his light blue skinny jeans, knees ripped, and sleeveless t-shirt. In his humble opinion he looked and felt great, although Paul seemed about ready to blow a gasket. He tried to ignore that, and instead smiled at the two new faces sitting at the table – his dad and brother.

Ryan went back to his original seat which was now directly between Paul and James. He looked to his brother as he sat and found the newborn giving him a wide feral grin. "How nice of you to join us for supper, little brother. You smell absolutely divine," he purred, eyes that were once a sweet baby blue were now something akin to two black holes, keen and hungry, and absolutely devouring the sight of the younger prince.

A menacing growl could be heard from the opposite side of Ryan at the same time a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. James ignored Paul as he typically did and lifted his brother's hand, pressing a thin wrist to his wintry nose. "Vanilla," he mused. "A new perfume?"

Ryan blushed and nodded. "Yes. You like it?"

"Undoubtedly," James murmured, his malicious gaze falling upon Paul. He hated that fucking wolf. "A beautiful scent for a beautiful princess." Ryan's face went tomato red as he inwardly preened at the comment. He knew he was a male, and knew that fact well considering the dick between his legs was a telltale sign of his masculinity that he never wanted to part with. However, being a princess wasn't such a terrible thought. God, he might very well die and go to heaven if he woke up one morning the leading female role in a Disney movie. Just call him Belle because Paul can be his Beast any day…

"Shut your fucking mouth, _leech_," Paul snapped, throwing a possessive arm around his imprint's shoulders, dragging the lightweight _man_ halfway onto his own seat.

James gave a sinister chuckle as he kissed the back of Ryan's hand before gently returning it to the younger prince's jean clad lap while meeting his lively green eyes. "If you ever want a real man to treat you like a _queen_ I've got this friend-"

"Like shit you've got a friend!" Paul countered. "I know you want my imprint." A round of sighs escaped those at the table, it would hardly be a standard dinner without Paul making a fool of himself.

"Oh shit, you caught me," James sarcastically remarked with a roll of his dark eyes. "I want him drunk and on all fours surrounded by poker chips," he shot a wry grin Ryan's way. "Which is why we're going to Vegas!"

Ryan's jaw dropped in surprise. "Seriously?!" He gasped excitedly.

"Mhmm, I missed your twenty-first birthday and according to pops," he nodded toward Jacob. "You spent your big day nursing Paul's pathetic drunken ass."

Ryan fervently shook his head. "It wasn't like that." _It was exactly like that_.

"He puked on your cake, pup." Jacob put in.

The prince ruefully met Paul's eyes, the wolf looking awfully contrite. "It was an accident," Ryan hummed, leaning into his imprint and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. All was forgiven, even if the big old brute ruined a red velvet cake – his absolute favourite – before he could even have a slice.

"When do we go?" Paul queried, not liking this at all.

"_We_ aren't going anywhere," James told him. "I am going to Las Vegas with Ryan this weekend, and _you_ are staying here."

"Like hell I am!"

"You are!" Jacob growled at the wolf, dominance of an alpha clear in his tone. "Let the boys go blow off some steam together, Paul. I'll be there. Gotta make sure my pride and joy doesn't cop a feel of a burlesque dancer's jugular vein."

"I'm not staying," Paul insisted.

Edward wriggled uncomfortably in his seat, swirling a champagne glass full of goat's blood in his right hand. For some reason it felt rather sacrificial. "You know, Paul, I was thinking it might be fun if you and I did something together while they're away. I'd love for us to fly to Alaska, spend a day hiking and stay out for the night to see the northern lights." He gazed at Paul with a hopeful expression. "You could even bring beer if you wanted." No, the vampire king wasn't above bribery.

"You're out of your goddamn mind if you think I'd let Ryan go to Las Vegas of all places without me!" The wolf yelled, and Ryan couldn't help but frown. The wolf was _always_ yelling.

"Since when are you his keeper?" James asked, genuinely curious to hear the answer to his question since there _wasn't_ one. Ryan was his own man… _woman_ or something in between – whatever the younger prince identified as, it didn't matter to James. What mattered to James was Ryan's happiness, and it hardly took a genius to realize Paul wasn't any good for is naïve little brother… his sweet baby brother whose only mistake in life was imprinting on that jackass.

"He is _my_ imprint! _Mine_!" Paul snarled, teeth bared. He was eager to be given a reason to lunge across Ryan's lap and rip the cadaverous flesh, hard as granite, from James' icy bones. He wanted to kill the prick when he was human, and now that he was halfway dead he wanted to finish the fucking job!

"Enough of this shit!" Jacob roared, fist slamming down on the table. "Can't a guy eat his dinner in relative goddamn peace?! Whether you like it or not, Paul, Ryan is going to Vegas. And James," his eyes flicked to his oldest. "Do your best _not_ to incite Paul's rage, please. I've already had it up to here with him," He said while motioning far above his head.

"Ryan is not going!" Paul butted in. "He wouldn't even want to go without me," he looked to his beloved imprint. "Isn't that right, angel?"

The prince unfortunately met Paul's gaze only to find his handsome, albeit nutty wolf eyeing him beseechingly. Ryan opened his mouth to tell Paul a weekend away from each other wouldn't be so bad, but the wolf's arms squeezed Ryan close as his nose fell to nuzzle at the crook of Ryan's neck, even leaving a trail of chaste kisses along his exposed collar bone. How could he ever deny Paul what he wanted?

"Paul's right," Ryan sighed. "I don't want to go without him."

"This isn't up for debate, puppy." Jacob's tone was firm, although his smile was one of playfulness. "You, and just you, will be going to Vegas with your dear old daddy and your bloodsucking big brother, and were going to have damn good time getting wasted as fuck. I know of a massage parlour that gives wicked happy endings too."

"Jacob!" Edward gasped, smacking his husband on the shoulder. "What the hell?"

Jacob rolled his eyes and smiled innocently. "It's for the boys, dear, _for the boys_." He leaned to the side, running his fingers along his husband's thigh while nibbling a wintry earlobe. "I hear if you throw in an extra fifty bucks they'll massage not only your back, but your prostate too," he flirtatiously whispered, russet fingers inching toward a growing bulge in slate gray slacks. "If I worked there and you came in… well, for a smokin' hot leech like yourself, I'd do it for free." He palmed his husband's erection over the soft material of the pants, nipping his snowy white neck. "I'd pay _you _to let _me_ suck your cock."

"Oh god," Paul groaned, "we're not fucking deaf."

Jacob snapped his gaze to the wolf. "You're not? Could have fooled me. You never listen to a damn thing I say unless I actually order you to."

Paul shook his head, gripping Ryan's hand and ushering the prince to his feet as he stood. "I've had enough of this, and so has Ryan. We'll eat in my room." Paul didn't give either king a chance to speak before he was dragging a reluctant little wolf from the dining room.

As Paul marched his imprint up the grand staircase, as if he'd been naughty and needed a time out, he gripped Ryan's shoulders painfully tight. "You're not to ever leave the palace without me," he ominously snarled. "I'd paint the palace red with your father's blood before I'd let him take you away from me." It was that very moment that Ryan realized he needed to grow a backbone. If Paul actually believed Jacob was some sort of danger to them than the wolf had well and truly gone mad. It hurt Ryan's heart to think Paul wasn't really the Paul that imprinted on him all those years ago. Once upon a better time Paul wouldn't have hurt a fly unless genuinely provoked. Now he was threatening kings.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Edward knew Paul was suffering. Edward also knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. In the past he'd brought doctors to Paul and Paul to doctors, even had him institutionalized on more than one occasion, yet not one of those times had Paul been cooperative. Not one of those times had there been any sort of breakthrough. Edward had learned the hard way that you can't help somebody that thinks there is nothing is wrong with them. In Paul's eyes, it isn't he who's sick, it's everybody else.

At the moment the king was being a creep and watching the rise and fall of the wolf's bare chest as he slept. He sat silently and motionlessly on Paul's swivelling computer chair, worried out of his mind for his friend. He was aware that now, more than ever, the wolf would be self-medicating, and he was petrified that at any moment his friend might stop breathing.

Edward had quietly scoured every nook and cranny of Paul's bedroom, as well as his bathroom, and flushed each pill and little baggy of powder he'd come across. Maybe it wasn't his place to snoop… no, _screw that_, he's king, and Paul was his best friend, practically family – the royal fuck up – and Edward wouldn't let him self-destruct easily. He couldn't stop the wolf from his detrimental behaviour, but he could at least be one hell of a road block.

There was only one time Paul had ever admitted he'd had a problem and that was shortly after Natalie died when Ryan was fifteen. Ryan's mother was diagnosed with cancer when Ryan was thirteen and passed away early one morning shortly after his fifteenth. Everybody begged her to let Edward change her, even Ryan had and how she'd ever managed to deny her only child was a mystery to both kings. She wanted to die. She was ready for it, she said. She didn't want to be alive forever. Although, Edward knew that to be because of the guilt she couldn't rid herself of after abandoning her babies. Her daughter would have likely lived to see her first birthday had she been able to take on the responsibilities of motherhood, but she hadn't and for that reason she believed she deserved the cancer she'd gotten, deserved to suffer, and deserved to die.

Her death tore Ryan apart and he never really did grieve. He was too angry. He felt like she'd abandoned him all over again and the only tears he'd spilt had been bitter ones filled with animosity. It was shortly after her funeral that Paul had come to Edward asking for help. He'd been abusing opiates. It was no surprise. Edward had suspected for a long time, but with Natalie being ill, Ryan's increasing heartache, Jacob's rising distress, and James beginning to feel neglected, he hadn't had time to worry about Paul – hadn't had time to even think about him.

Paul admitted he was afraid of what he might do to himself. He'd been contemplating suicide and it would be all too easy to take a few extra pills or inject a little too much when in one of his dark moods. He wanted to drift off to sleep, Paul said. He wanted to drift off to sleep feeling nothing but the buzz of pleasure and never wake up. However, he had an imprint who loved him, an imprint who'd just lost his mother, and an imprint who'd be devastated by his death. Paul couldn't do that to Ryan, he couldn't hurt him like that… couldn't abandon the boy. It was that day that Paul made one of his very few unselfish choices and went to detox.

He was clean for a long while, but those dark moods never relented and now he and Edward played a game they never spoke of. When Paul showed signs of using, like increased anxiety and aggression, the king would silently intervene. He'd rid Paul's room of all the drugs and paraphernalia which would tell the wolf he knew, and was watching. The drug use would cease for a few months, maybe half a year if lucky, though those same dark moods would inevitably rear their ugly heads and Paul would once again try to numb himself.

The numbing wasn't working this time, however. Something was off, way off. Edward knew Paul better than anyone, the wolf didn't want to be broken, he didn't want to be hateful, and he certainly didn't want to incite fear in his imprint, which is exactly what he'd done. Ryan had come to Edward and said the hardest thing he'd ever had to bring to voice: he was scared of Paul. Ryan wasn't afraid for himself, he was afraid for others and for his father in particular. Ryan hadn't mentioned the hurtful things Paul told him at the beach, though his dad heard them loud and clear in his mind. Paul had little trouble speaking freely about the 'horrors of homosexuality' to Edward, though Edward hadn't a clue until he'd heard his son's thoughts that Paul had gone as far as to share his bigoted opinions with his imprint as well. That just wouldn't do.

Edward didn't like the game he was forced to play with Paul, but he preferred it over Ryan knowing the truth. The young prince was too naïve to see the signs of drug use, too trusting to ever think Paul would resort to such desperate measures. Alcohol was one thing, but intravenous drugs… Ryan would never understand. He'd blame himself for not taking proper care of his imprint. Ryan would never be able to forgive himself no matter how many times he was assured that it wasn't his fault. He imprinted on a broken man and all the little wolf wanted to do was fix him. There was no fixing Paul. He was beyond repair, and for Ryan's sake it was a shame Edward couldn't replace him with a new one.

When the sun came up and Paul's alarm clock glowed half past seven, Edward decided to wake the wolf and get him out of the palace for the day. With the touch of a cold palm to Paul's warm copper cheek, he jerked awake, his hand snapping upward and tightly squeezing his friend's wrist. He blinked, eyes coming into focus on a familiar pale face and his grip lessened. "Is Ryan okay?" The wolf queried, voice hoarse with sleep. "Did something happen?" His tone more fretful as he hurriedly sat up.

"Everything is fine," Edward assured him. "I'm taking you out for breakfast. We're going to spend the day together."

The wolf shook his head. "I want to be with my imprint."

"He'll be here when we get back." Paul frowned at that because he wasn't so sure. Jacob was planning on carting his angel off to Las Vegas in a few days, but the wolf wasn't stupid. Jacob wasn't actually taking Ryan to Vegas, he was taking him somewhere else, somewhere secret, Paul was certain of that. He knew it was all some elaborate plot of His Majesty's to take Ryan away from him. It was a long time coming. Jacob is a covetous man, an evil man, and he didn't want to share the prince. He was going to steal him away and make Paul suffer, but that was half the fun for the alpha king. Jacob wanted to watch the wolf die an agonizing death of heartbreak. He wanted to see the wolf whittle away into nothing but knobby bones and to hear him beg for his angel back just so he could deny him.

Paul's knuckles turned white as he painfully clutched at his sheets to keep his fists from swinging at the vampire in front of him. Edward had to be in on it with Jacob. Paul should have known, really. Should have known better than to trust a _leech_, a once slave… a whore no less either. A filthy backstabbing faggot whore! Paul wasn't delusional, he knew what he had to do. He couldn't sit just there doing nothing and wait for them to steal his angel away and do God only knows what with him. He had to kill Edward, he had to kill both kings!

Paul growled to himself and fervently shook his head, rubbing at his temples. No, he was most certainly delusional. He was being one-hundred and ten-fucking-percent delusional. He was thinking crazy and Paul knew it. But it all felt so real. It felt like reality. _It made sense_.

"No it fucking doesn't!" the wolf yelled at himself, causing his friend, his _best _goddamn _friend_, to jerk away.

"Paul?" Edward said cautiously, trying desperately to penetrate the walls Paul had set up in his mind.

"Talk to me," the wolf implored, grateful that the vampire didn't hesitate to listen. He was in dire need of a distraction from his own thoughts.

Edward clicked on the lamp on Paul's bedside table and gracefully took a seat by his side. Paul eagerly observed as the vampire parted his rosy red lips and began talking about everything and nothing at all. Paul didn't hear the words, didn't care to, he just the listened to the friendly tone and reveled in the way bright golden orbs swept over his face. The king wasn't looking at him with pity or disgust, just love and concern. Paul didn't think someone could feign a look like that, not even someone as clever as Edward.

Paul continued to watch his friend speak, watch the way the corner of his mouth would twitch when he forced a smile and the way his eyes would crinkle in the corners when it was a real one. He noticed Edward's pallid hands fidgeting by one of his own, obviously contemplating whether he should reach out and make contact or not. Paul made the decision for him and inched his hand closer, letting their contrasting fingertips touch before both of the king's hands keenly devoured his own, holding Paul's tight as if some prized possession.

Edward shot him a grin as he ran the pads of his smooth wintry thumbs over the back of Paul's rough knuckles. Paul couldn't help the way his heart beat harder the longer his stared at the vampire. The man was all angular lines and wild hair, which made up something beautiful, something special and kind. The longer he stared and listened to Edward's pleasantly masculine voice, the more he was reminded of the slave that stuck its neck out for him and saved him time and time again… still kept saving him – was doing it right this moment without even realizing it.

Guilty tears polished the rims of Paul's eyes, and it only made him feel worse when Edward's hands lifted to cup his face with wintry palms. The vampire's touch was gentle and affectionate, and reminded him nothing of the men from prison. Edward wasn't like them, couldn't be if he tried, yet Paul still punished his friend for their wrongdoings. He said ugly, hateful things. He'd condemned Edward's marriage to his face on more than one occasion. Called the man a fag and a whore, and just about every other odious name he could come up with. Fuck, he'd denied the love Edward professed to have for Jacob was possible, treated it like it meant nothing, that it was nothing other than something to be abhorred. Edward was still here, though. Still touching him kindly with soft hands, and his tender gaze spoke volumes above anything that could ever be said. Paul treated the king like a second class citizen, but the king never cared… never judged him for it, always forgave him, and what for? Paul didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve anything.

The wolf shook his head, trying to shake away Edward's hands. It was futile of course, Edward would never let him get away that easy. Edward would never let him get away at all. Edward was always there loving and caring, always there to help, always wanting to fix, and _God_, does Paul ever wish he could be fixed. All he did was point fingers. How could the thoughts of murdering Edward even cross his mind? How was that possible? Something had to be wrong inside his head. Something that made him spiteful and cruel. Something that made him distrust and hate, fear and loathe, cry and wish for a painless death or at the very least, a new beginning.

A sob pitifully escaped him as he squeezed his eyes closed, praying harder than he'd ever had before. He wanted God or whoever was watching over the earth to make it all go away. He wanted to forget. He wanted someone or something to take the pain away… take all the hurt and agony. Take all his scars both mental and physical. Take everything. Erase everything from his mind except for the memory of his angel, his only reason for existing in the first place.

When cool arms slid around him in a firm embrace, he opened his mind for Edward and anybody who might be listening to hear. He promised if they could just make the pain go away, take all his hellish memories away from him, he'd be good. He'd be so good. He wouldn't say bad things anymore. He wouldn't smoke or drink. He wouldn't do drugs or cut his skin to let his filth bleed from his veins. He'd be a good man. He'd be like Edward. All he needed was a second chance.

"I wish I could give that to you, Paul. You know I do," Edward's voice sounded exactly how the wolf felt,_ broken_.

As Paul continued to weep, he buried his face in the cool, comforting crook of Edward's neck to hide. Just hide. Hide from the world and everything in it, even his imprint. He didn't want to be seen like this. He didn't want to be seen at all, yet the chilly hands stroking his bare back told him he was hardly invisible. Edward could see him. Edward understood him. Edward would always be there. He never had to go through this alone.

Paul opened his mind even more, reliving his past horrors for Edward to see and hear – showing him precisely the memories he wanted to forget. They were so vivid and clear that the vampire could smell the sweat of men and even feel the ache in his bones where Paul had been struck – it was almost shocking when he couldn't step into the memories himself and stop the men from violating his friend. He wanted desperately to. He wanted to calm Paul's screams, but not before killing the men who were causing them.

They were dead, however. All except one that the king had failed to find. Edward had gathered them one by one, stuck them in purgatory, and let Paul extract his revenge. He'd hoped it would somehow heal him, make him feel better, but it hadn't, not nearly. If anything it made things worse. Killing them hadn't lessened Paul's pain, it didn't take away what they'd done to him, and it certainly didn't bring back his dignity or sense of self-worth. It did nothing other than bring Paul face to face with the sick fucks that had stolen not only his body, but his sanity.


	5. Chapter 5

_I told a few people that this would be the chapter where Paul's life gets turned upside down. That is not the case! Sorry! Next chapter I think._

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_Chapter Five_

Edward wasn't the idiot Paul liked to pretend he was. The king had taken his friend out for a big English breakfast, the wolf's favourite, though he only pushed the food around on the plate with a fork, looking rather green. Edward saw the exact moment Paul slipped a spoon into the sleeve of his hoodie. The vampire should have protested when Paul excused himself to the bathroom, but he wanted to believe Paul was better than that. He wanted to believe Paul wouldn't stoop low enough to shoot up in the bathroom while the king sat waiting for his company.

Edward tried to be patient as he sipped elk's blood from a crystal glass. Nevertheless, he checked his watch incessantly, and after twenty minutes had passed he'd had enough. He got up from his seat crossing the restaurant that was all dark woods, billowing white drapes, and beautiful chandeliers. The door to the bathroom was locked and his knocks went unanswered. The staff brought out a key, letting the king through the door. He saw exactly what he'd expected to see.

Edward crouched beside Paul the wolf slumped on the floor by the sinks. He lifted Paul upright causing the half conscious man to groan. As he leaned him against the wall with one hand, with the other he snatched up a slim syringe and burnt spoon that were carelessly strewn on the tiled floor. He stood, properly disposing of them before returning to his friend, searching the man's pockets, and finding a folded piece of tinfoil hiding a powdery substance.

Edward rinsed the foil off in the sink before tossing it in the trash, angry with himself since he'd obviously done a real shit job of ridding Paul's room of drugs. Like Paul had done, he locked the door to ward off unwanted visitors and took a seat on the floor next to the wolf, letting him use his shoulder as a pillow. Edward scrubbed his hands across his face and scraped his fingernails over his scalp through his auburn tresses, messing up his already wild hair. There was a heaviness behind his eyes, a certain ache, and he knew by the pangs in his cold dead heart that he'd be crying if his body had been capable of it. It shouldn't be possible for a king to feel so helpless.

"I feel better now," Paul muttered against Edward's cashmere shirtsleeve.

Sometimes Edward wished he could allow himself to hate Paul; it was honestly the easier thing to do. It was moments like these that he desired an emotional disconnect. It was moments like these that he wanted nothing more than to put his hands up in surrender, wave a little white flag and walk away. Loving Paul wasn't enough. Caring wasn't enough. Nothing was enough and all the wolf did was take. Take. Take. Take. Yet, even though Edward felt like he had nothing else to give he pulled his friend in close, circled his arms around the warm body, and just held the man.

Paul's hot breaths on the skin of the king's wintry neck had the weight of bricks, but the weight was welcomed. It reminded the vampire of life, though it was the melodic beat of Paul's heart that had Edward internally weeping. It was but a sad lullaby, slow and steady, but so tremendously tired. It was as if Paul's heart was singing itself to sleep. It was once very much alive, beating with a ferocity that Edward had never heard within another, though it had been over a decade since hearing that sound, back when Paul was just teenager. Paul had been broken even then, though he hadn't yet given up. He'd had hope that things might get better. Like a candle melted down to the base, the pretty flame losing its light and heat, Edward helplessly watched that hope die.

Paul drifted in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of Edward's presence and the cold arms wrapped protectively around him. His limbs felt heavy, but weightless. He couldn't make himself move, yet felt as if he could fly, and he did. He breathed in heaven's clouds while fleeting images of his dearest and only angel entered his mind only to leave as quickly as they came. The name Ryan throbbed in his brain – _little king, little king, little king_. His king, his god, his everything. So perfect, so precious, so beautiful. So righteous, so clean, so pure. Unspoiled, untouched, unblemished. Innocent, moral, and chaste. Virtuous, wholesome, and sinless.

_Angel_.

_Imprint_.

_His_.

Back at the palace the prince sat cross legged on a checkered blanket amongst fruit trees and colourful flowers. Behind him, his brother tucked pink plum blossoms into his waterfall braid. James loved the little wolf, perchance at one time, as a young teen, a little more than a brother should. Dad knew, of course. Dad knew everything there was to know about him. James actually liked having the older vampire inside his head, and had grown to need him there. Edward wasn't just his dad, or king, or husband to the alpha of alphas – Edward was his sire, the man who made him what he was today, and he depended on that man to keep on molding him.

James' heart wasn't made of gold, he wasn't made of light, and he didn't have a conscience to wrangle in his inner demons. Edward had to be all those things for him. Edward taught him how to love properly, he kept him illuminated when darkness always lurked, and even imparted a strong moral code. James knew right from wrong well, but he couldn't feel it like others. If he murdered Paul Lahote in his sleep, he'd never feel guilt or shame. He wouldn't mourn the wolf's passing or grow to regret it. Paul's death would feel _right_ when he knew it to be_ wrong_.

James lived and died serving King Edward, and he'd always continue to do so. He was indebted, but more than that he had an unrelenting fondness… an unconditional love for the vampire. Edward was the first man to ever look at him twice with something other than pity in his eyes. James wasn't just some pathetic orphan boy with an idiot alpha wolf for an older brother, no, James was something to be loved, to be cherished, and to be taken care of. James was worth a king's affections, a king's fatherly devotion. Edward adopted him and treated him like the boy had always been his own son, like there'd never been any other way of life… like they'd always been together. So did Jacob for that matter.

James was just as loyal to Jacob, but Edward… Edward was different. Edward was his _dad_, his protector and mentor – Edward wanted him _first_. The vampire knew James inside and out, knew every thought be it good, bad, or plain old evil, and still loved him with enthusiasm. As a parent, Edward never judged him, only ever loved him, so when Edward told James to jump, his immediate response was to ask how high. He never questioned Edward, never even felt the need to. The king's word was law, and if Edward told him no, he never felt unjustly treated since his dad knew better than he what was best for him. So, when he'd been only fourteen and his dad told him his feelings for his younger brother were inappropriate, he believed him.

Therapy had been an eye opening experience to say the least; so many misplaced emotions, incongruous urges, and unsatisfied desires; it was a wonder he could function appropriately at all. The more James learned about himself, the less he felt for Ryan. He still loved his younger brother with an exuberant intensity, perhaps even loved him violently. He'd never harm the younger prince, but it was a struggle not to slit Paul's throat. Ryan's imprint, unfortunately was safe from James. The vampire's ability to empathize was definitely lacking, but he knew what love was and he could imagine the pain of losing that love. Whether or not Paul deserved some sort of untimely ending was irrelevant – as much as James hated to admit it, if need be, he'd sacrifice his own existence to see that that insufferable wolf kept on breathing. Ryan loved the prick, was _in_ love with said prick, and James would do whatever was in his power to keep his little brother's heart from breaking. It was the least a big brother could do.

After James placed the last blossom in Ryan's hair, the younger prince grinned over his shoulder. "How do I look?" He eagerly queried, knowing full well the vampire would only give praise

James smiled crookedly to himself while combing his strong pale fingers through Ryan's thick wavy hair, sweeping it over a slim shoulder to expose an enticing neck. "Positively delicious," he sinisterly purred, sending a chill up his brother's spine.

Turning around, Ryan pulled away and playfully glared at a shirtless James, his pallid skin – muscles ever taut beneath it – shimmering in the bright summer sun. "On a scale of one to ten, how badly do you want to eat me right now?" he teased in question.

"Fifty-two," James said while rising to his knees, looming over the younger, smaller, weaker prince. He leaned forward, tilting his head slightly as he came to nose Ryan's neck, deeply inhaling the sweet woodsy scent – wild flowers and rain on rocks. He lightly nipped at Ryan's jugular which got a warning growl from the little wolf. It was hardly threatening, in fact, it was so adorable it caused a dark rumbling chuckle to escape James.

Not being able to withstand temptation any longer, the vampire licked a stripe up the side of Ryan's throat to taste his tan flesh. Humming in satisfaction, he nibbled the wolf's ear, daring himself to bite moments before sinking his pearly white teeth into the lobe of that same ear.

"Jamie!" Ryan screeched, hitting the vampire with a closed fist before he thought better of it. Hissing, James jerked away while clutching his cheek, lips stained red with his brother's blood.

"Sorry," James groaned, pink tongue zealously swiping over his bloodied lips to lick them clean. With a pained whine he fell backwards onto the blanket, heals of his palms digging into his closed eyes, utterly exasperated. Family shouldn't be allowed to taste so fucking good.

Ryan cautiously shuffled closer to James, placing a worried hand on his brother's cool chest. "Jamie?" He murmured. "You okay?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" James grumbled.

Grabbing the corner of the blanket, Ryan wiped away the rest of the blood, observing only a few small droplets on the material. "I'm fine. It was barely a scratch. It's you I'm concerned about."

"I'm sorry," James repeated. Although, he wasn't really. Not in the typical sense. He wasn't sorry that he bit Ryan, he couldn't be, not when the little prince tasted as delightful as he does. He didn't feel guilty. He wasn't repentant. Yet, he knew he'd acted wrongly even when what he'd done felt right. He never set out to do the wrong thing. James wanted to be one of the good guys, a prince his people could look up to and admire. He was rather positive biting pretty little wolves was not part of good guy's repertoire.

"Jamie," Ryan sighed, pushing the vampire's hands away from darkened eyes so he could look into them. "You don't have to be sorry. I'm well aware of what you are now." The young prince smiled down at his brother. "I think I'd be insulted if you didn't lust after my blood at least a little."

James quirked a blond brow, gazing intently up at Ryan. "I'd rather you smell like Satan's asshole than how you do now. You haven't a clue how frustrating it is to see family as food."

Ryan's smile melted into a frown. "Do you regret dad turning you?"

James' face contorted with displeasure. "You're a fool if you think I wouldn't pick any alternative over leaving you behind for true death." He reached up, cupping his brother's silky cheek reverently. The wolf's heat bled through his palm and up his arm, making his body tingle with something akin to glee. "How can I regret this?"

Ryan gently clutched the hand holding him and pressed his lips to James' wintry palm, kissing it adoringly before smiling against it. The vampire was well aware their behaviour was atypical for brothers. Then again, what was normal really? It wasn't Ryan, it wasn't James, and the vampire doubted a palace where two kings dwelled and shared a bed was normal either. Nothing about their lives was particularly normal. They were simply atypical like their behaviour was.

Yet, loving his parents felt normal. Even as a twenty-three year old man, obeying them felt normal too. As an older brother, disapproving of Ryan's choice of mate felt normal. Loving his brother felt exceptionally normal. Expressing that love he had for Ryan felt normal as well. It wasn't sexual like Paul and so many others liked to believe. He had no desire to see the younger prince without clothes or have his lips upon his own. He just wanted to be close to the younger male whom was dear to his heart. He liked the little wolf's hugs and the feel of his smaller frame gathered protectively in a tight embrace. Ryan was precious – it was one of the very few things he and Paul could agree on.

Pink charmingly dusted the younger prince's cheeks as he moved to lay beside his brother, the two of them gazing up in silence at the few cottony clouds in the azure sky. Ryan's soft, warm fingertips, tickled James' colder, rougher ones – the vampire happy to connect them and hold the hand of his future king.

"I'm worried about Paul," Ryan eventually said.

With brows furrowed, James turned his head to look at his brother. "When aren't you?"

Ryan met the vampire's dark eyes. "This is different. I'm scared."

James squeezed Ryan's hand. "Of him?"

"Of and for. I told dad last night."

"That's why they went out together this morning?"

Ryan nodded, figuring his dad wanted to talk to the wolf about his recent behaviour. "What would you do if you were me?"

Pondering the question, James licked his lips, tasting remnants of his brother. "I'm not sure I know what you're asking."

Ryan sighed, frowning sadly. "I'm in love with Paul, but I can't fool myself into thinking that means anything to him. As far as that wolf is concerned I'm some fucked up celestial being that he constantly worries is being brainwashed by our _faggot_ parents."

James' eyes widened with something akin to horror in them. "Don't say shit like that. It's unnerving."

Ryan laughed, but it sounded bitter. "Can you believe that when I was a puppy I actually thought I'd grow up to be just like daddy? I thought I'd be huge and strong. I thought I'd be able to protect Paul. I thought I'd be a real man… an alpha."

"You are an alpha!" James exclaimed, sitting upright and pulling his brother up with him. "You don't have to be huge to be strong, and it's not feasible to always be able to protect someone from themselves." The vampire gripped the little wolf's shoulders, shaking him slightly as if trying to shake the stupid right from him. "Do you really think me, dad, or pops think of you as a lesser man because you've got fucking flowers in your hair?"

Ryan shrugged pitifully. "You call me princess."

"I call you princess because you've liked it since the first time I said it when I was just eight years old. It's just a nickname, albeit a feminine one, but you _are_ feminine, Ryan. You've got pretty hair and a pretty face. You wear pretty colours and love pretty flowers. Hell, you've even got a pretty voice, but if in here," he tapped the wolf's chest over his heart, "you feel exactly how pops looks, then that's what you are."

Ryan meekly tapped James' own chest where his dead heart lay beneath. "What do you feel like in there?"

"Like an infuriated big brother ready to kick your ass in attempt to knock some fucking sense into you!" James vehemently proclaimed, causing a wide beautiful smile to spread across Ryan's lips.

"What would I do without you?" Ryan adoringly mused.

James fervently shook his head. "God forbid we ever find out."

Ryan met the vampire's cold eyed gaze and leaned into the man. "You never did answer my question. If you were me and Paul was your imprint, what would you do?"

James huffed. "I don't know, Ryan. I can't think like that. I can only imagine what I, Prince James, would do if I somehow found myself magically bonded to Paul. I wouldn't love Paul like you do, I couldn't. I'm not attracted to him."

"Just tell me what to do then."

"Ryan…" James sighed. It wasn't his place to tell his brother what to do, and if he had any sense at all he'd tell Ryan to talk to dad or pops. Conversely, their parents tended to pussyfoot around the younger prince. The little wolf was sensitive, but frankly, James didn't give a damn about hurting his feelings if something truly needed to be said. And maybe, just maybe, something did need to be said. He had a few choice words for Paul and some creative ideas about what could be done with him. Although, he doubted either is what Ryan had in mind.

"Please," Ryan beseeched, eyeing the vampire earnestly. "At least tell me what you think."

James briefly contemplated his next course of action, and decided for better or for worse he'd share his opinion. "I hate Paul," he stated matter-of-factly.

Ryan dramatically rolled his vividly green eyes. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Alright," James agreed. "You're in an abusive relationship. Sure, you and Paul don't screw and it's not like he beats you, but he's controlling and manipulative. He's verbally abusive. I don't know why you put up with it," Ryan opened his mouth to speak, though James cut him off. "And don't tell me it's because you love him."

The little wolf flushed pink. "That's my only excuse, really. I always fret about setting him off. I just want to appease him. I want to make him happy." _Yeah_, James thought, _he's a classic case of abuse_.

"Look," James sighed, placing a chilly hand on his brother's knee. "I despise Paul. I despise the ground he walks on, despise the grating sound of his voice, and I sure do despise how often I'm stuck listening to it as he whines and complains. I mean, goddamn, even his stupidly handsome face irritates me and I despise him for how angry I feel every time I look at his fucked up self. Mostly, I despise him for imprinting on you."

"Is there a point to this?" Ryan brusquely asked.

"Yes," James hissed in retort. "I despise every inch of that wolf, inside and out, but I don't for a second think he wants to see you unhappy. He's making you miserable, and that's partially your own fault. You never stand up for yourself or your beliefs; you just nod and smile along to whatever bullshit he spouts. You're his _imprint_, little brother. He _loves_ you in his own twisted way. As much as you bend over backwards to appease him, he'd do the same if he only knew how unhappy you are. I suggest if Paul ever returns to the palace, sit him down and tell him how you feel. Be honest and blunt, don't tiptoe around him. I can almost guarantee he'd be begging for your forgiveness."

Ryan furrowed his brows, barely able to retain any of what James said, save for one word. "What do you mean _if_ Paul returns home?"

James innocently shrugged. "You said that you told dad last night that Paul scares you. Dad left the palace early this morning with your wolf, basically the first second he could without Paul putting up a fuss. I highly doubt dad has any intention of bringing him home."


	6. Chapter 6

_**WARNING:** A shit ton of violence. People die folks.  
_

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_Chapter Six_

Paul woke to the sound of muffled voices and the feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He found himself slumped and uncomfortably squished in the back seat of Edward's unmoving car in the pitch dark of night. Before he even opened his eyes he had a distressing twisting feeling in his gut, an unnatural yearning to make reality go away for a few more hours… to slip a needle under his skin, into a vein, sigh blissfully, and let his eyelids get heavy as his body thrummed with synthetic euphoria.

Unfortunately, cold hard reality was all he'd get since his reality didn't revolve around the sun. It revolved around Edward – King fucking Edward. "The drugs are killing you," he proclaimed. "Let me help you," he implored. "We can fight this together," he swore.

_Fuck Edward_, Paul thought, _fuck Edward and fuck his unrelenting need to goddamn help_! Either it was the wolf or the world that was a lost cause. Paul was beginning to wonder if it was, in fact, himself. If you have enough people tell you that you're crazy you begin to believe it. Edward never actually said he was crazy, he only kindly implied it. But didn't the king get it? Didn't he know the drugs weren't killing him? The drugs were keeping him from killing_ himself_. Edward took the booze away, what the hell else did the leech expect him to do? Paul didn't want to dream. He wouldn't let himself dream. He needed something at night to stave off the nightmares. Nobody would touch his angel, not even the ghosts of his past that lurked in his subconscious.

"Just think about it, Paul. The facility is beautiful, it's practically a resort – it sits right between Pass Lake and Bowman Bay. You'd have your own private bedroom, an ensuite bathroom, even a kitchenette. It's all top of the line, very luxurious, just like home… but with doctors to take care of you… because I- I can't seem to." You know what it didn't have there? Ryan.

"_Heroin_, Paul, you've been using _heroin_. You're so much better than that. I don't want to see you become a statistic." He already was a statistic. Apparently it's pretty good comedic material too since everybody likes to laugh about it. Paul agrees, prison rape is so fucking _hilarious_. He's laughing so hard it _hurts_.

"Please listen to me. You're sick, Paul. You threatened Jacob's life! How could you do that? He loves you!" Yeah, the alpha wolf loved him so fucking much that he tried to punch all those feelings right into his face when he was practically a kid – a stupid teenage boy willing to take abuse from someone who supposedly _loved_ him.

"Let the doctors help you, Paul. Go for Ryan. Do it for him." Everything he did, he did for Ryan! Why was that so hard to believe? Why was _he_ the selfish one for just wanting what's best for the little wolf? The drugs weren't bad, it was the world and the people in it. There was only one of Paul and billions of people… _insects_, to protect the prince from. It was an incessant swarm of depraved cockroaches that wanted nothing more than to devour his soul, or whatever was left of it. People were vermin. Ryan was not people. _Angel_… Angel. Angel. Angel.

"If not for him, Paul. Do it for me. Think of all we've been through together. Think of all the things I've done for you, and please, just do this one thing for me." And there you have it, that's how Paul ended up on his way to a rehab facility against his better judgement. Paul wasn't a fool, though. He knew he didn't really have a choice. It was either this, or his friend would place him somewhere else – somewhere under lock and key so he couldn't leave. Edward had done it before and with the look of determination he'd had on his face, he'd do it again. He couldn't blame the vampire, however. He _did_ threaten Jacob. Whether it was an idle threat, Paul wasn't sure.

It was the vibration in the pocket of his jeans that had him grumbling to himself and reaching for the device, bones creaking from hours of lack of movement. The screen illuminated his face, causing him to squint, his eyes focusing on the smiling image of Ryan on display. He tapped the answer button. "Angel…" He hummed, pressing the phone to his ear as he stretched the best he could across the back seat, which was little to none at all. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

Ryan never got to say word, or if he did, the wolf didn't hear it over an abrupt, shrill sound of twisting metal. The car violently shook, the back tires lifting off the ground as the force of something large came crashing down on the hood of the vehicle, mangling the front end while sending webbed cracks up the windshield. When the car ceased to move, Paul bolted upright in utter shock, scrambling for the door handle when out of the corner of his eye he saw Edward's face just beyond the mess of lines on the front window. He gasped as he locked eyes with the battered king, accidentally dropping his phone to the carpeted floor with a soft _thunk_.

"Hey, boss, I think there's somebody else in there," He heard a gruff voice say from outside the car at the same time a big hand pressed against the tinted window by his head. "I swear I saw a light, man." Paul's vision fell to his feet where the phone laid between them – the illuminated screen still bearing his imprint's beautiful smile. He dropped to the floor between the seats, his body concealing the brightness.

"Paul?!" he heard Ryan exclaim through the speaker, clearly on the verge of panic. "Paul, what was that noise? Are you there? Paul!"

"Send guards!" He hissed into the receiver. "They have Edward! Send all the fucking guards!"

"Where are you?!" Ryan bellowed. "What's going on? Who's they? Who has my dad?"

Paul was about to speak when the door closest to his feet roughly swung open, the bright overhead light switching on. He turned over, pushing the phone under the front seat while scrambling to get onto the back one. A wolf's brawny russet torso came into view outside the car. The wolf bent, peeking inside the car, holding a bloodied white t-shirt to his broken nose which he tossed away as a wicked grin spread across his bruised face as he maliciously eyed Paul.

"Well well well, look what we got here, boys," The wolf leered, his voice smoky and commanding, giving Paul a shiver. A definite alpha.

Two furry heads pushed their way into the car on either side of their alpha, both coats a mix of brown and reds – brothers. "I'll be damned if that ain't the prince's pet, the prison bitch," the alpha said, snorting with amusement.

"Fuck you!" Paul spat with no sense of self-preservation.

The alpha only chortled and shook his head, ebony hair cropped short. "No, Mr. Lahote, _fuck you_, and _fuck_ King Edward Black," he cursed, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Images flashed before Paul's eyes, all of which vividly depicted sick, depraved men using Edward's body against the vampire's will for their pleasure. Something uncomfortable bubbled in Paul's chest. Something hot and agonizing that was spawned from love for his friend. Something fierce and protective that burned with hatred for any man that threatened Edward, a king. Treason, in circumstances like this, was punishable by death, and Paul itched with yearning to deliver it.

Paul's heart thudded uncomfortably hard behind his ribs, feeling like it might actually burst through his chest walls the way it was practically flailing inside him. He shook with adrenaline, the chemical flowing rapidly through his veins as he viciously snarled, kicking his foot out. The heel of his tan steel-toed boot connected with the alpha's face, blood splattering when teeth snapped, cracked, and were pushed inward. The alpha stumbled backward, howling in pain, but Paul didn't so much as flinch when one of the wolves latched onto his shin, aggressively tearing flesh and digging into bone as it yanked Paul from the car.

Paul's back smacked hard against the cool pavement. With only a spare moment given, he surveyed the area the best he could, smelling the ocean as well as hearing the sound of its calm waves crashing all around him. Metal handrails were on either side of the road – bridge, he surmised. Trees silhouetted the area as if a painted nighttime backdrop, and it was quiet, so quiet. No rustling branches, no hoots of owls, just the soft purr of the sea and a rumbling growl above him.

Paul gazed upward, finding two large wolves hovering over him with their teeth bared. Spittle dripped from their bloodthirsty mouths, some landing on his chest while a few small drops landed on a flushed cheek. With his own life threatened, he only felt numbness; he felt resigned to whatever fate had in store for him. Although, he had a grim impression that things wouldn't go in his favour. Fate, after all, had never been kind to him. Nevertheless, it was the looming thought of having twisted wolves dig their dirtied claws into Edward's body, the look of pain and fright in the vampire's eyes when they'd connected through the windshield that not only infuriated, but invigorated him. Paul could very well die tonight, and if not for Ryan it would be welcomed with open arms. However, Edward would never be the one to die, not while Paul was still alive and kicking. If the only good thing Paul did during his feeble existence was save the king... it was enough.

When one wolf snapped its jaws, aiming for Paul neck, he tucked his legs up to his body and rolled beneath the other, narrowly escaping a gory death. Scrambling toward the hood of the car where he clutched a shard of glass that had been knocked from the headlight, he turned around just as a wolf pounced, tackling his front. Razor sharp claws dug through the front of his t-shirt and into his copper skin as the wolf went straight for the kill, carelessly grabbing for Paul's neck with its teeth. Paul guarded himself, lifting his forearm – wincing as pointed canines dug into it. He resisted the urge to try to pry pull his arm free and instead raised the other with the jagged glass in hand, forcing it to become intimately acquainted with the wolf's left eye.

While squealing in distress the wolf reared his large furry brown head, the shard of glass protruding almost proudly from his eye socket. With its throat bared, Paul took that moment to lunge at the beast. His clothes shredded, soles of his boots flying off to either side of him as his body exploded into an oversized silvery grey and extremely enraged wolf. His jaws immediately clamped down on the wolf's exposed throat and he violently shook his head, ripping thick skin and splitting vital arteries.

As the wolf slumped to the ground, the second attacked – springing onto his back and wrenching at his scruff, resulting in gaping bloody gashes. Wounds, to Paul, were only superficial; the pain hardly felt bone deep. What agonized him, and what agonized his heart, was the mental image of Edward being harmed, of Edward feeling pain.

Ferociously snarling, Paul threw himself onto his back, landing directly on the wolf that was brutally tearing at his shoulder hackles. He twisted around, eager to end the wolf's life, though only managed to get a face full of gnashing teeth – right cheek and muzzle getting the brunt of it.

Paul roared, returning blow for blow – savagely slashing across the wolf's snout with four hooked claws. However, he became distracted when he spotted Edward out the corner of his eye being thrown up against the back end of the car. The king's shirt hanging in tatters over his shoulders, his normally snowy-white skin an unsightly grey and scarred with a maze of blackened fissures – each arm pinned parallel to his body against the trunk by two separate wolves in their human forms.

Paul didn't see the alpha approaching, didn't see that tire iron in his hand, and he didn't at all see the blow coming to the side of his head. Somewhere in the back of his mind he vaguely recognized Edward's voice crying out for him… screaming his name in utter terror – screaming for help, screaming to be saved. Hollering for a saviour.

The world around Paul was lost to him as a warm red puddle gathered beneath his cheek. The puddle glinted under the pale moonlight, the smell of it in the cool summer's night breeze making the vampire king cringe and dryly sob to himself. He knew better than to travel without guards, but he'd done it for Paul. He didn't want them gossiping about his friend since their destination was a treatment center. All he'd wanted was to give Paul privacy.

Yet, he'd known something was off. He didn't trust the navy blue van that had been following for miles. Though, with their destination quickly approaching, only a few miles off from where he was now, he didn't bother to call for guards.

Dread virtually wept from his pores when two identical vans blocked the exit to Deception Pass. He'd stopped the car, unable to reverse with the van behind him. He cut the engine and did the only thing he felt he could do, exit the car, praying that whatever altercation was about to happen, they wouldn't find Paul dreamlessly sleeping in the backseat. Wishful thinking that had been.

For the next few minutes Paul drifted in and out of consciousness, but there were a few familiar sounds that had his hackles rising and his paws twitching. The clink of a belt, whimpers of distress, and foul, demeaning language.

"Not much of a king now, are you, _parasite_?" the alpha taunted, words garbled from broken teeth and a bitten tongue. He roughly flicked open the vampire's belt, shoving his black slacks and underclothes down his taut and tightly closed thighs. All Edward could do was lay there with his chest and cheek pressed to shiny metal. He was too tired to struggle, too weak for it have any affect, anyhow.

"You make a much better slave, a pretty slave," The alpha purred, fingers tracing down the curve of Edward's spine to the crook of his bare ass. "I'll never understand why King Jacob married you." He leaned over the vampire, his hot breath assaulting Edward's ear, making the vampire feel the need to vomit. "Everybody knows you're just his whore."

"He loves me," Edward whimpered, sounding nothing short of pathetic… small. He felt it to. "Nothing you do to me will change that. So get on with it," he hissed. "Have your fun."

The alpha depravedly licked up the shell of the king's ear, as he hurriedly unzipped his grimy jeans, letting them slip to his ankles. "If you insist," He lasciviously stated, standing upright. He spat in his filthy palm, using it to dampen his dick while prying apart Edward's clenched rounded cheeks apart to expose his entrance.

Fear alone made Edward fruitlessly struggle, pointlessly cry out for help from the half dozen wolves surrounding him, including the two that held him down – forcing their king to endure this torture. He'd kill them if he ever got the chance, kill them all, and slowly. Each russet face was forever engrained into his memory, along with all of their scents, and every one of their unrepentant and racist thoughts. They loathed him for what he is. Wanted to see he him suffer because he _deserved_ it for being a leech.

Edward forced his mind elsewhere when he felt the blunt pressure of the alpha about to enter him. He thought of his husband, and the warmth of his arms. He thought of his two sons – Ryan's pretty laugh and James' strong admiration for him. He'd need all those things when he returned home, and he _would_ return home. He wasn't going to die, nor was his soul. Not now. Not ever. He could endure this. He could endure anything. _I'm king_, he reminded himself, _and there is nothing I can't overcome_.

The unexpected sound of Paul's rumbling growl was the voice of an angel singing, and before Edward knew it he was being jerked away from the vehicle as Paul leapt atop it – metal crunching under the heavy weight of his paws. Edward made quick work of pulling up his trousers as he eyed his friend, the man's own blood drenching his thick silvery fur.

Paul, unsteady on his four legs, snarled viciously as he glared at the alpha that had fallen to the ground, pants trapped pathetically around his ankles. There were six wolves and one of him. However, only a single wolf clung to Edward. He made up his mind, charging forward toward the alpha, only to quickly lunge left and collide with the wolf beside the king.

Edward was accidentally strewn aside by the wolf, backside painfully hitting the pavement milliseconds before his head knocked against it. Paul's thoughts immediately told him to run, to get the hell out of there, yet he sat paralyzed as the wolves grappled – just one of them shouting as a strong jaw kept cutting his butter like flesh. It took only mere short moments for Paul to sink his teeth into a muscular belly, savagely eviscerating the male.

Edward and Paul's gaze briefly caught, the wolf's face completely red and dripping with blood. It would have been a petrifying sight if it weren't for the fact that Edward knew the man behind those maddened eyes. _"Run, you fool!"_ Paul shouted in his mind, urging his friend into action.

Edward shakily clambered to his feet, a hot hand almost instantaneously gripping the back of his neck to hold him still. It didn't last a beat, Paul's jaws chomped down on the alpha's limb, nearly severing it completely. The moment the king was free, he bolted past the van and down the long, seemingly endless bridge; scarcely missing two other pairs of hands that attempted to grab him.

When only a few short yards from land, Edward glanced over his shoulder expecting to see Paul right behind him. Instead, he found Paul right where he left him, trying to fight off four shifted wolves that were all snapping at his fur while the fifth was coming straight for the vampire. "Paul!" he hollered, lungs aching with the strain as his legs trembled, wanting nothing more than to give under him.

"Paul!" Edward repeated just as his friend wrenched himself clear of the wolves, making a mad break for freedom. Relief flooded the king's heart, though he couldn't wait for Paul, not with the brown wolf coming straight for him. He dashed into the darkened woods, almost hoping the wolves would give chase to Paul so he could lead them to the palace and straight to their deaths.

Whatever relief he felt instantly vanished when thunder clapped overhead in the cloudless sky which was swiftly followed by a bloodcurdling yelp that he knew could only belong to Paul. Edward halted amongst the trees, the little hairs on the back of his neck raised as thunder banged twice more, one right after the other. Everything fell silent as the vampire's mind reeled – it wasn't thunder he was hearing, it was gun shots.

Edward stood stark still, unable to move even if he wanted to. He tried desperately to stretch his mind in effort to pick up his friend's thoughts, though only heard the ones belonging to the wolf rapidly gaining on him, the wolf that had orders to kill him.

Edward's fingers became entangled in his hair as he tugged at the strands, incapable of comprehending what had just occurred despite knowing exactly what had happened. Paul had been shot. Paul had been shot three times. Those thoughts were at the forefront of Edward's mind, but they weren't processing, they wouldn't connect. He couldn't believe it. _Wouldn't_. If he just waited a little longer Paul would come to him. If he just stood right here in this spot, Paul would return and everything would be fine.

He closed his eyes, falling helplessly to his knees as he strained his ears – listening for his friend's approach. His head fell into his hands as pleaded with God to have the wolf he could hear crashing through the trees be Paul. He knew it wasn't, not if the thoughts were any indication. Nevertheless, he prayed for a miracle.

When the pads of large paws thumped in front of him and a snarl ripped through the cool night air, he slowly opened his eyes – he wasn't met with a miracle. Instead, reality slapped him hard in the face and spat on his shoes.

The brown wolf charged, gaze deadly and teeth bared.


	7. Chapter 7

This was only edited by me in a hurry since I had taken awhile to update and wanted to post this ASAP. Sorry about any bad errors!

_**WARNING:** More violence and more death!  
_

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

Ryan paced by the treeline outside the palace, clad save for a silk pair of red sleep pants. His wavy chestnut hair hung loose, flowing in the light breeze as he stalked impatiently back and forth on the dew damp grass. James stood off to the side with his shoulders held stiffly back and hands clasped tightly behind his back, watching the younger prince out of the corner of his eye while their father hollered instructions to the guards assembling. Two helicopters roared overhead, shining thick beams of light down on the palace grounds – illuminating Ryan's growing agitation.

Head to toe, Ryan trembled with fury so hot beneath his skin that a thin layer of sweat made him gleam much like a vampire in the sun. He muttered curses to himself, whispered all the terrible things he'd do to the people responsible for attacking his dad and imprint as his fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly at his sides. "How does it take _this_ fucking long to trace the location of Paul's cell phone signal?! It's the twenty-first century, not the goddamn dark ages!" The little wolf shouted to no one in particular, absolutely exasperated.

Ryan stomped over to James, roughly shoving his brother's arm to gather his full attention as he glared up at the taller man. "We're wasting time waiting for the guards. We _need _to go," he snapped, his tone cold and biting. James suspected that had he'd been a wolf instead of the undead he'd be unable to refuse his brother's request.

James looked to their father, weighing the pros and cons of disobeying his orders to stay put and keep his little brother's emotions in check. An unstable Ryan meant an unstable alpha, and whether or not the wolf wanted to believe it, his bark did, in fact, have bite. There was a simple reason why papers didn't publish adverse articles about the little prince, a simple reason why people knew better than to harass the small man in the streets… a simple reason why, at this very moment, no guard, be it a wolf or vampire, dared approach their future king. They were afraid of him.

Ryan, when in a regular mood, liked to play coy – liked to think of himself as a cute, harmless, little puppy, and for the most part he was. However, there wasn't a puppy lurking under all that smooth caramel coloured skin, there was an alpha wolf, and nobody but him ever seemed to forget that. Sweet, the pretty the prince is. Selfless, certainly. Precious, indubitably. Ferocious, dangerous, and deadly? Irrefutably.

James sighed as he flicked his gaze to his younger brother. "Pops told us to wait. It's probably best that we do."

Ryan stepped forward into James' personal space, an air of fury about him as he rose to his toes to get eye level with the older prince. "You don't take orders from him," he hissed. "Daddy is _not_ your alpha," he snarled. "If you were a wolf, you'd be _mine_!" he all but roared.

James quirked an incredulous brow, lightly shoving Ryan away with a slight smirk playing on his petal pink lips. "You know I like it when you try to boss me around, little brother," he teased. "Such a fierce alpha," he taunted before imitating a wolf's growl and the swipe of a clawed paw. "Such a _fabulous_ alpha, too," he mocked with an exaggerated feminine lilt while flicking a strand of Ryan's silky hair behind his shoulder. "Maybe I'll get you a juicer for Christmas since you're so damn fruity!"

Ryan glowered at the vampire with his teeth gritted, sweat beading on his forehead, and slight muscles rippling beneath smooth freckled flesh. He'd been fighting the urge to shift since the telephone call with Paul, which James, of course, knew well. The vampire prince was desperately trying to push the little wolf over the edge. Ryan was right, they were wasting time, dad needed help. _But_, James also didn't want to completely disregard his father's demands – he couldn't stand the thought of the disappointment he might come to find on Jacob's face later on. However, If Ryan shifted and took off into the forest… well, he'd be forced to follow, now wouldn't he?

"You underestimate me," Ryan sneered, contorting his pretty features into something unappealing – menacing – while his venomous gaze scrutinized every handsome and muscular inch of the vampire before him. "I don't know about you, but I don't need guards or helicopters or a fancy tracking device to rescue dad and Paul. I could find them by instinct alone, and it doesn't even matter how many assailants I'd be facing – I'd kill them all."

James didn't underestimate his brother at all, which is why he felt safe saying: "Oh yeah? Prove it, princess."

* * *

King Edward Black's agonized scream echoed through the forest as sharp teeth brutally tore at his stony flesh. When momentarily freed, he tried desperately to roll away, though the brown wolf's jaw caught his side, canines digging between his ribs, gripping tightly before the animal roughly shook its muzzle side to side.

Letting go, the wolf slammed Edward to the forest floor seconds before snapping hold of his thigh. Edward hands scrambled across the damp ground, fingernails digging into dirt and leaves in a frantic attempt to find purchase. "Please!" Edward begged, yet the wolf's teeth only sunk deeper. "Please stop!" he wailed. "My husband… my sons," he whimpered pitifully. Edward wasn't afraid of dying, he was afraid of what came after. Whether it was heaven or hell, or even a black abyss, he didn't care – what worried him was Jacob's reaction. The man wouldn't survive the heartbreak... wouldn't want to survive it. Edward was certain his husband would follow him anywhere, even into an untimely grave.

Then there was his boys. James would disintegrate if he died, and any good he'd instilled into the hole where his adopted son's soul should be would evaporate. As for Ryan, well, Edward needed his puppy far more than his puppy could ever need him. Ryan was his baby boy. The first person he'd ever loved… the first person to truly make his cold, dead heart feel alive.

With a quick flick of the wolf's powerful neck, it tossed the king into a nearby pine tree. Wood splintered behind the vampire's back, which caught on the few measly shreds that was left of his shirt as he came tumbling to the ground. Edward didn't even have time to flinch before the snarling wolf clamped down on the crook of his neck, just narrowly missing the slim length of the king's throat – the failed goal of decapitation.

The wolf growled into Edward's hard, cadaverous flesh as it dragged the vampire away from the tree, dumping the pale man on his trembling hands and knees in a patch of thick mud. Edward, too weak to hold himself up, slipped to his stomach, cheek becoming buried in night chilled muck. Teeth sank into the contours of his bare back as claws raked their way down his spine, eliciting a sharp cry from the king. The wolf threw him aside, effectively rolling him over, and quickly dove after him – chomping down on Edward's neck.

Edward howled in pain as he was lifted from ground and was once again roughly thrown aside. With his face smashing against a small boulder, he landed limply on his front and was almost instantly pinned by the heavy weight of a paw pressing between his shoulder blades as the wolf snarled above him. His eyes threatened to close on their own accord, though he fought their will to shut the second he noticed the wolf's other front paw right by his face while at the same time hearing the distant thoughts of his two sons amongst the rustling windblown leaves. He immediately strained forward, wrapping his cracked, ashy grey lips around the thinnest part of the wolf's leg, just below its carpal pad, and with all the strength he could muster he violently dug his razor like teeth into the tough flesh – severing tendons and cracking bone.

The wolf squealed in pain as it yanked its appendage away, leaving behind a bloody mess and a single metacarpus bone between the vampire's teeth. The wolf stumbled backwards as Edward spat the bone into his palm, gathering newfound vigour which Edward used to rise to his knees. "Fuck you!" he shouted at the wolf, crumbling the bone between his soiled fingers. "_Fuck you_! _Fuck you_! _Fuck you_!" Edward was beyond distraught, beyond anguished, and far beyond all rational thought. "Burn in hell, _cur_." He viciously snarled, trying with all his might to climb to his feet, but only managed to get halfway up before slipping and falling back onto his hands and knees. Nevertheless, he felt no shame being in such a submissive position, and grinned victoriously. "Have fun sucking the devil's cock."

The wolf limped forward, lunging for the king. Though, he only made it a mere few inches before a ginormous flash of white intercepted, tackling the brown beast. The pair of shifters toppled to the forest floor, the larger of the two – the colour of fresh fallen snow – emitting a thunderous growl as he flung the injured wolf away from him as if nothing more than a rag doll.

"Kill him! Fucking kill him!" Edward screamed at the little prince, who was not so little in his wolf form – not so little at all. Ryan, when side by side by with his alpha father in their canine forms, matched the man in bulk, though exceeded him in height. Jacob's son may put flowers in his hair to look pretty, wear pink fuzzy bathrobes to feel feminine, and get his nails professionally manicured because he doesn't like them any other way… _yet_, after Ryan's first shift, neither king ever once doubted their son's masculinity. Nobody did.

Ryan's deep menacing rumbles echoed off foliage as he prowled toward the stunned wolf, twigs snapping from the weight of his oversized paws while his vivid green eyes glinted under the blanket of pale moonlight. His hackles rose the closer he drew, and he snarled, teeth bared as the wolf tried to scuttle away on only three functioning feet. Ryan boldly swiped at its haunches, claws catching on both flesh and muscle which elicited a bloodcurdling yelp from the wolf as it fell to the ground with a heavy _thump_.

The moment Ryan pounced was the same moment strong, cautious arms devoured Edward in a firm embrace, lifting him from the dirty ground to quickly and gently lie him on a pad of spongy moss. "Dad!" James fretfully exclaimed, hovering over the man while carefully scraping the mud from his marred and sickly skin. "Oh my god, dad…" James helplessly whined, eyeing the webbing of dark fissures that covered the vampire's face and body from beatings, along with all the black lacerations and deep hollows created by teeth.

"I'm okay," Edward panted, chest heaving for breath as his eyes slipped shut. Despite the lack of need for oxygen, he felt like he was drowning. Stuck at the bottom of the sea where everything was blurry and far away… distant echoes and shimmering lights. Ripples, bubbles, and gritty sand…

"Dad!" James yelled, gripping the vampire's jaw painfully tight, jerking him fully awake. "Don't you dare close your eyes!"

Edward swallowed, throat feeling as if flames were licking it. "Don't let me close 'em," he quietly beseeched, afraid that if they did he'd never be able to open them – that he'd simply slip away without even knowing it. "I love you," he breathed, voice thick and raspy. "I love you so much, Jamie," he repeated, terrified he might not get another chance to say it.

"Shut up," James hissed, face contorted in a way that betrayed every one of his despondent emotions. "Papa will be here any minute. He'll fix everything." He glanced over his shoulder searching for Ryan, about to demand that he feed their dad or at least bring the body of the wolf for the king to suckle on, but he could see neither shifter, only hear his brother's snarls and the other wolf's pained wails reverberating off stout tree trunks. "Ryan?!" He called for the younger prince, tone utterly grievous.

"_I love you_," Edward rasped for a third time. "I've never regretted picking you… making you my son. Such a smart boy – a handsome boy. So much to offer."

"Stop it," James growled. He didn't want to hear this shit, not like this. Never like this.

"_I'm proud of you_," Edward's voice was barely a whisper, the back of his mind feeling like it had a dozen half-ton anvils attached to it, dragging him down. Dragging him away.

"I'll hate you," James threatened, both his hands gliding into the weak grip of his dad's. "I'll hate you so fucking much if you leave me."

With the strength of a newborn baby, Edward squeezed his son's hand to keep himself grounded. To keep himself in place. To keep from losing himself. "I love you." It was becoming a mantra, a reminder as to exactly why he couldn't let go… couldn't allow his body to force his eyes shut.

"Dad, _please_," James begged. What he was begging for he wasn't exactly sure. To stop scaring him, perhaps. To stop being so goddamn ominous. "I'm sitting you up," he hastily said while dipping a hand under his dad's back, gently hauling him into an upright position. He cradled the elder vampire, holding him against his chest reverently as he hoped this might help the man's bruised and tired ebony eyes to stay open.

James stroked his strong, pallid fingers through his dad's grimy hair, softly scraping his nails over the king's scalp as he shouted for his brother a second time. Relief flooded him when moments later Ryan came trampling through nettles and ferns, shifting as he flopped beside them on the mossy ground. James' amber eyes widened as he took in the little prince's appearance – blood splattered his chest, hands drenched and hair matted with it while his nose, mouth, and cheeks were freshly glazed crimson. The young man looked petrifying… murderous… he looked fucking _glorious_.

"Dad needs to feed," James hurriedly said. "Where's the wolf?"

"In pieces," Ryan lowly growled.

"He _needs_ to feed," James stressed. Ryan darted his gaze toward James, eyes downright feral as he bit into his own wrist. Blood instantaneously erupted from his punctured veins and flowed freely down his chin, dripping onto his naked thighs. James gulped, eyes fading to black as venom pooled in his mouth as he stared hungrily at the sweet nectar that was being wasted.

Edward was transferred into Ryan's hold, greedily accepting the wolf's proffering. Edward's lips eagerly pressed around the bloody wound to suck heartily while dirty fingers came to wrap around a lithe arm to keep it from escaping. The wolf winced as his dad bit deeper, though didn't react at all when James roughly gripped his long tangled hair to keep his head still while the vampire's wintry tongue dragged over his saturated chin and plump tainted lips. James tried desperately to delve between them – not to kiss, but to taste more of his brother's scarlet essence.

Ryan wrenched his face away, glowering at the older prince. "Give me more," James breathily demanded. "I want more."

"It's not for you," Ryan snapped, clutching tightly at their dad as he whimpered and moaned against Ryan's wrist, eyes closed, and Adam's apple happily bobbing in his throat with each swallow.

James hissed his disapproval, crossing his arms while turning his back to the pair so he couldn't see what he was missing, only smell its enchanting perfume. Growling to himself, he scrubbed his hands over his blond stubble and pressed the heels of his palms hard against his closed eyes while holding his breath. It was a weakened grip squeezing his shoulder that tore him from his blood infused stupor. James glanced over his shoulder, his dad staring at him expectantly with his hand stretched out to him. He heaved a sigh, lifting his dad's hand from his shoulder as he swivelled around, allowing Ryan to place the king back in his arms.

Ryan fingered his bloody wrist watching it knit back together as he slowly stood on two shaky legs. His high from adrenaline had worn off and he felt dizzy from blood loss, but he had no plans on slowing just yet. The feeling in his gut had led him this far – it would take him to Paul too. He didn't give his dad or brother time to speak, although he heard them both calling after him as he suddenly sprinted away, diving to his hands that had become paws milliseconds before he landed. His large, bulky body flew through the forest, darting around coniferous trees and over mossy rotten stumps with a gracefulness that most wolves could only dream of. He was utterly silent, a mere ghost in the woods as he followed his heart – not a single twig snapping underfoot.

Trees blurred around the corners of his eyes, and his heart ached the closer he got to his imprint, which made a niggling sense of dread pinch the sensitive edges where his soul connected with Paul's. Whatever waited for him wasn't good

Eventually Ryan burst from the trees, claws clicking on the pavement of route twenty. Ahead of him a bridge, approximately a quarter mile long, its left side overlooking the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Near the far end he could see movement – wolves. He started off slow, inching forward onto Deception Pass where calm ocean waves purred beneath and lapped at rocky shores. His stride gradually increased, as did his speed as he slunk forward. Only did he propel himself rapidly forward when a man – alpha – that was clutching at an injured arm ordered the four shifted wolves surrounding him to attack.

With his fluffy white ears drawn back and head lowered defensively, Ryan dashed down the center line, fearlessly slamming his body full force into the first wolf that reached him – a shifter the colour of red fox fur and just as lean as one. The prince felt nothing when three hulking wolves tore at his flanks, just the smooth glide of his teeth sinking in the red wolf's scrawny neck as he loomed over the small beast. He twisted his muzzle, ripping fur, flesh, and the life right from the shifter. With a pitiful squeak the wolf fell to the pavement, limp and lifeless.

Ryan ferociously roared as he threw his head to the side, snapping at a dusty grey wolf. He got a strong hold of the side of its scruff, heaving it into the cool metal guard rail. Immediately following, he flung his body weight into one front paw, using it to slash the face of creamy golden wolf that had gone for his underbelly. The fourth wolf, a bluish black that matched the clear night sky, bit savagely at his rump.

Ryan whirled around, getting a face full of teeth from the black wolf. Yet, regardless of his gashed snout, he ferociously growled and leapt atop the wolf, using his weight to force it to the ground. The black wolf collapsed beneath the prince, one back leg splayed out to the side which Ryan swiftly broke between his powerful jaws. The wolf screeched in pain, squirming frantically, although uselessly, underneath the much larger shifter. Ryan easily clamped his teeth around the other back leg, giving it the same vicious treatment just before he was ruthlessly dragged away by the golden shifter.

The grey wolf hobbled over to him, tried to pounce while the prince was down, though was easily kicked away by Ryan's hind paws. Again, the golden wolf went for Ryan's delicate underbelly. However, this time the prince was unprepared after having just knocked the other wolf away from him which left him completely vulnerable on his back – it was no surprise when teeth dug into his flesh and muscle, causing the young alpha to howl in pain. What had been surprising was the pain ended just as quickly as it had started.

Pasty white hands pried the wolf's jaw open, demolishing bone as those same hands squeezed with the fury of an enraged big brother that had just seen his younger sibling brutally injured. The golden wolf wailed an agonized scream in James' clutch which got a sick lopsided grin to expose itself on the vampire's pink rosy lips. James venomously hissed, mercilessly smashing the wolf's furry body to the hard ground beside his brother. Ryan's eyes widened as James' leather combat boot lifted from the pavement and eagerly stomped on the shifter's skull, instantly killing it.

Scrambling to four paws, body aching and bloody all over, Ryan couldn't help but stare at the gory scene before him. Although, his eyes were swiftly brought frontward when bubbling laughter erupted from the older prince as he spat on the wolf's mangled head. Ryan stepped between James and the corpse, his head towering a foot or so above his brother's. The alpha wolf nudged the vampire away from the blood and gore, not at all amused by the cruel mirth twinkling in those ebony eyes. Ryan wasn't oblivious to his brothers darker… _instincts_, he just liked to pretend they didn't exist. The wolf killed because he had to. The vampire killed because he liked to.

"You okay?" James queried, a stupid grin still on his face as he let his brother lead him away. Ryan nodded despite his paws feeling as heavy as breezeblocks and hearing the trickle of his blood from his bleeding belly hit the pavement. He didn't think he was okay. Not even a little, but there was still so much more to do. He had to find Paul.

James' gaze travelled past the young prince and to the retreating grey wolf making a break for the trees. Drawn like a cat to a mouse, the vampire took off after him leaving Ryan behind with the last remaining wolf able to fight – the alpha. Ryan stood still for a moment, head hanging low, trying to piece together the remnants of his wits. Languidly, he strode onward, his body protesting each and every movement. He could vaguely hear the alpha hollering at him from a ways away, daring him to come closer.

Ryan tried to run toward the angry voice, though couldn't manage to go any faster than a slow trot. He forced his head up to look where he was going just in time to see the barrel of a hand gun pointed in his direction. The trigger was pulled and everything briefly went black as it felt and sounded like lightening had struck his chest. Ryan collapsed to the ground, shrinking to his small human form along the way – the unforgiving pavement tearing his already bruised and bloody skin.

Curling into the fetal position he clutched his wounded chest, crimson reeking of copper pouring over his petite hands. He wanted to scream in agony, but could only manage to gasp for breath he couldn't catch – the rattling in his chest a telltale sign of a punctured lung.

Heavy footfalls fell by his ears and a steel toed boot kicked his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. "Not much of a beauty queen now, are you, you loathsome little _bitch_?" The alpha snarled down at him, words slightly muffled, sounding like the wolf had a mouthful of cotton when, in fact, it was just a mouthful of broken teeth.

Ryan glowered at the man, trying to desperately to get to his feet. The wolf simply shoved him back down to the pavement, pressing the ball of his foot against the leaking bullet hole to keep him pinned. Whimpering, the prince's hands scrabbled at the alpha's booted foot, frantically seeking to remove the excruciating weight from his chest.

"Now-now," the alpha chided, aiming the gun at Ryan's face. "None of that."

Wickedly sneering, the little prince halted his movements. "Pussy," he gruffly snarled.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Ryan spat. "Look at me – I'm smaller than most women and bloodier than a vampire's wet dream. Yet, here you are pointing a gun in my face like a coward… can't fight like a man 'cause you're a _pussy_!"

Letting his ego get the better of him, the alpha wrenched the prince to his feet by his hair and lobbed the gun over the side of the bridge. "You wanna fight, _princess_?"

Ryan shook his head, grimacing as he pushed the palm of his hand to his bullet wound in attempt to stave off the bleeding. "No, but they do," he said matter-of-factly while motioning with his chin behind the wolf. The alpha quickly glanced over his shoulder, scowling as if betrayed when he saw the rows of guards approaching.

Irately bellowing slurs, the alpha stormed forward, slamming his one good fist into the prince's face. Ryan wobbled on his feet, stumbling backwards until his back hit the guardrail. The alpha hit him again, this time aiming for Ryan's sternum and with enough force to knock the smaller wolf off his feet. Ryan's body teetered on the railing, half of him hanging over the edge. His lithe fingers, slick with blood, desperately grabbed at the metal – slipping with every attempt until gravity took over and the prince fell from the bridge, nearly two hundred feet to the icy waters below.

Ryan hit the waves belly first, ribs painfully compressing and snapping under the pressure. He sunk like a rock, but furiously kicked his feet, breaching the surface with a harrowing scream. Salty waters burned every piece of broken skin while his shattered insides tormented him with fiery pain. He couldn't breathe, could hardly move his arms, and all he wanted to do was cry – to wave a little white flag and cry shamed tears while being held by his dads. That was, of course, until he saw a figure floating in the water a few yards from him.

He kicked his feet out behind him, whimpering and whining with each stretch of his arms as he forced himself to swim – the biting cold making his teeth chatter. The closer he got the deeper his heart sank into the murky depths. "Paul?!" Ryan cried, feverishly kicking his feet through the water. "Paul!"

With what felt like ages, Ryan reached his imprint's side – the man floating on his stomach, face submerged in the salty waters and three bullet holes spread over his back. The prince rolled Paul over, gasping at the unrecognizable sight of his normally handsome appearance. His lips were split and blue, nose crooked and broken, eyes bruised and swollen shut – it was beyond horrendous, and Ryan couldn't stop the tormented sob that escaped him.

The prince struggled to hold the larger wolf's head above the water and swim to shore in unison. He was eventually forced to turn onto his back, pulling Paul's own back to his chest while ignoring every ounce of pain that tried to seize and paralyze him in the frigid ocean waters. More often than not the prince's head was dunked beneath the surface, unable to keep both of them unsubmerged. He coughed and sputtered with each strained breath, not feeling like he was getting anything other than water in his lungs. When his feet finally touched bottom it felt like an embrace from God himself, and as he dragged his imprint to the rocky shore he both prayed and shouted for help.

Gasping for breath that he just couldn't catch, tears streamed Ryan's soggy cheeks as he pressed his fingers to the pulse point on Paul's neck while trying to look anywhere but at his face or the big block letters carved onto his muscular chest and abdomen that wrote, **LEECH LOVER**.

"Paul…" Ryan miserably snivelled, feeling nothing under his fingers but cold damp flesh. He dipped his head low, resting an ear over his imprint's heart. _Silence._

"_Help_!" Ryan shrieked at the top of his lungs, a wetness spattering the inside of his lips from the painful exertion. Some of it dribbled from the corner of his mouth which he wiped away with the back of his hand – he couldn't even be bothered to care when saw that the back of hand was smudged with red.

"Somebody help!" He repeated, eyes squeezed shut and lungs screaming. Suddenly, hands belonging to guards, both wolves and vampires, were all over him, picking him up and carrying him away from Paul, leaving the man on his own. Wrenching his eyes open, Ryan fervently shook his head, flailing wildly in their grips. "Get the fuck off me!" Ryan hysterically shouted. "Help him," He hollered in demand, pointing at his lifeless imprint. "Save Paul!"

The men and women gently set their prince aside, and immediately did as they were told – the four of them surrounding Paul. Ryan collapsed beside them, laying on his back, heaving for breath. He lolled his head to the side to watch as they performed CPR. Paul's arm out and away from his person, as if purposely stretched toward his angelic imprint. Ryan reached for his hand, entwining their fingers and smiling in reprieve when he heard spluttering of lungs being cleared of water while a woman yelled they had a pulse.

While listening to the buzz of helicopters overhead, the little wolf's eyes slipped closed as he dotingly kissed the back of Paul's knuckles. "I love you," he murmured against the calloused skin of the wolf's russet hand, nuzzling the bulky appendage. "I love you so fucking much," he whimpered, doing his best to hold back tears. He needed to be strong, if only for a few more hours. Paul needed him to be the strong one… had always needed that, and Ryan swore from here on out that he'd be whatever Paul needed without complaint, even if that meant turtlenecks in the summer. He'd been given a second chance. He'd found his imprint, and the young prince was proud of every laceration, broken bone, and the single bullet wound it took to find him. Paul wasn't okay, not even a little, but he was alive, and at that very moment that's all that mattered.


	8. Chapter 8

I am so sorry it took me so damn long to update! I agonized over this chapter. I originally planned for a bunch more angst, but instead I decided to skip over it. It all had to do with stuff going on at the hospital regarding Paul and I really didn't need to show it unless I wanted to torture you all. Anyway, like I said, I skipped over it, so this chapter starts with Paul returning home from the hospital. Hope you guys don't think it's a cop-out for what I did to him. I couldn't think of another way to fix the poor fella! _  
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* * *

_Chapter Eight _

Paul stood in the center of his bedroom, gazing around the small space. He was both bored and irritated being surrounded by the four bland walls. Nothing hung on them save for the stale scent of cigarette smoke and blighted hope. The latter, however, was more of an unnerving itch that crawled beneath his copper toned skin. It was something akin to déjà vu, but far more sinister a feeling. The room was haunted with the ghosts of past horrors, he was sure of it. Yet, they remained nameless, faceless, and wholly anonymous in the back of his mind. He figured some things were best left unknown. He'd watched the Exorcist on Ryan's laptop at the hospital, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was stab himself in the crotch.

Paul scowled to himself as he eyed a large bookshelf that was organized in a way he couldn't really make sense of. Although, it was the labels on each object that truly befuddled him. Quickly becoming uninterested with the over-organized area, he let himself into the bathroom which was equally as lacklustre as the bedroom. Everything was pristine, immaculately white, and smelled of lemon disinfectant. The wolf almost wished he was in need of a piss just so he could dribble on the bowl when he went, and perhaps a bit on the shiny marble floor just to spite whatever freak show that lived in this place before him.

He went to the walk-in closet next, unsurprised by the handwritten labels in mass quantities and the complete colour coordination. He snorted smugly to himself as he kicked some shoes off a rack and placed a red shirt with the blue ones, a blue with the blacks, and finally, a black muscle shirt with the white button ups. Good God, what a rebellious man was he! _Practically unlawful_, he sarcastically thought to himself.

Paul returned to the bedroom, smiling at his imprint who sat rigidly perched on the edge of the single bed that donned powder blue pressed linens. "There's been some sort of mix up. This is not my room," Paul said matter-of-factly while taking a seat right beside the pretty prince – thigh to thigh. The wolf would definitely remember a room like this had he ever seen one like it. The fact that he'd gotten hit over the head with a tire iron meant nothing. Doctors _may_ have said the blow caused partial amnesia which was why he was, _perchance_, struggling to recall things from his past, but he was beyond certain this bedroom had never been part of it. This was a mad man's man cave and it gave him the fucking creeps.

"I mean, come on," Paul continued, sniffing the air with his nose turned up in disgust. "I don't even smoke!"

Ryan smiled softly, gazing at his imprint with nothing other than utter love and devotion. "Yes you do."

Paul cocked his head incredulously. "I do?" He skeptically questioned. "Since when?"

"Since you were twenty," Ryan told him, quietly chuckling and unable to resist the temptation to give the man's stubbly cheek a chaste caress. Butterflies swarmed in his belly when Paul leaned into the touch, eager and happily awaiting more.

As the young prince combed lithe little fingertips through Paul's cropped ebony locks, Paul used his fingers and boot clad toes to try and do the math to figure out how long he'd been smoking. Although, he found himself downright frustrated when he couldn't remember his own age. "How old am I?" He queried.

"Thirty-four."

"Right," Paul sighed, pressing himself closer to the smaller male. That sounded right… _he_ _thinks_. He looked to Ryan, the pretty white wolf with emeralds for eyes. "And what about you, gorgeous? How old are you? About the same?"

Ryan, crinkling his nose, stared at his imprint rather dubiously, unsure if he'd heard him right. Did the man just call him gorgeous? "Uh, hmm, no," Ryan dumbly said. "I'm only twenty-two."

Paul's eyes brightened as he gave the prince a wolfish grin. "_Shit_," he drolly hummed. "I never would have taken myself for the cradle robbing type."

Ryan flushed pink, bashfully hiding his rosy cheeks by nuzzling into the crook of Paul's neck. "Hey," Paul gently protested, carefully lifting the prince's face from his shoulder as if it were something preciously delicate. "None of that. I need to be able to see you. I spent two months in a coma and the last three weeks in hospital being poked and prodded with absolutely no privacy, especially not with your dad breathing down the back of my neck since the moment I woke." Paul smiled adoringly at the younger man, running a calloused finger over a smooth jawline. "You have no clue how close I was to assassinating the king just so I could get you alone," he quietly teased.

"Really?" Ryan asked with a sheepish grin. After getting a swift nod from the wolf, Ryan's grin grew along with his confidence and the pink in his cheeks faded. "I wanted time with you too, but you know how much my dad loves you… and now, now you're his hero. I mean, you saved his life, and, well," Ryan instantly thought better of what he had to say next, fearing Paul's inevitable negative reaction to it. Nevertheless, he pressed on. It needed to be said. "He would have been raped if you hadn't intervened. I'm pretty sure you're daddy's hero as well. Can you imagine what it might be like to have an imprint endure something so terrible?" Ryan immediately cringed at his stupid question, because he could imagine. He really really could. In fact, he didn't have to imagine at all – he lived it every day.

Paul shook his head, frowning to himself. "I won't imagine it," he refused, placing a stiff hand on the little wolf's knee. "And maybe I am Edward's hero, but..." His soulful brown eyes held a playful glint despite the topic and he leaned in, nuzzling his stubbly cheek against Ryan's satiny one. "You're my hero, sweetheart. You saved my life."

Overwhelmed, Ryan bit back a sob that escaped as an emasculating squeak as he threw his arms around Paul's shoulder's, clinging desperately to the man. The last thing he was expecting from his imprint was gratitude. "I was so scared, Paul. You've no idea," he pitifully whimpered, though he couldn't be bothered to care. "The doctors said you mightn't ever wake from your coma, and if you did there'd be a high chance you'd never walk or talk – wouldn't even be able to cognitively function whatsoever." Paul already knew all of this, yet there was a different kind of weight to it when it was the little wolf saying it. The doctors had sounded mechanical, but his pretty imprint sounded frantic… heartbroken at the mere possibility of the bleak turn Paul's life could have taken.

"God," Ryan breathed, pulling back from their embrace to reverently hold Paul's face in the palms of his small hands. "To see you like this," he said, observing the faint smile on the wolf's rosy lips. "Smiling, even laughing. You can't fathom how good it makes me feel. You never used to smile."

Paul's eyes momentarily fell from Ryan's while he tucked a strand of the prince's silky hair behind a tan ear. "I don't believe you," he hesitantly uttered, a ghost of smile crooking the corners of his mouth as he lifted his gaze back to the little wolf. "Just looking at you makes me smile."

Ryan dropped his hands to his lap, fiddling with them uncomfortably as he chuckled, albeit a bit awkwardly. "Paul Lahote doesn't flirt either."

The wolf canted his head, grinning widely. "Don't I? Well, you should be pleased to hear I'm being a good boy and am doing no such thing. Merely stating facts. Got any of your own?"

"Facts?" Ryan questioned, receiving a nod from Paul. "This is, in fact, your bedroom. It always has been."

Paul grimaced, eyes darting around the small space as he pulled away from the smaller wolf. "Fuck," he sighed, coming to stand upright on two legs. He hadn't wanted to believe Edward. "Your dad warned me about this."

Ryan furrowed his brow. "Warned you about what?"

"That I'm fifty shades of crazy."

Ryan shook his head, rising to his feet and by his imprint's side. "You're not crazy," he protested. _Just different_, he thought to him himself

Paul huffed, rolling his eyes while stomping his way around the end of the bed to rip off a blue sticky note from the middle of the plain white wall, holding it up for Ryan to see. "_Wall_," Paul read aloud. "I labelled a fucking wall as if it wasn't already self-explanatory enough!"

"Okay, so you're a _bit_ obsessive compulsive. That doesn't mean you're crazy," Ryan insisted.

Paul gave the wolf an annoyed glance. "A bit?!" he exclaimed. "Fuck off," he scoffed, taking a step toward the prince. With a mischievous glint in his brown eyes, he glared heatedly down at the little wolf and roughly pressed the sticky note to a tan unblemished forehead. "Don't make excuses for me, pipsqueak. I want a smart imprint, not one that is as dumb as one of these," he said, flicking the writing on the paper stuck to Ryan's face.

Ryan scowled, snatching the sticky note from his skin and crumpled it between his slim fingers, dropping it to the floor. "_Pipsqueak_?" he hissed. "I'm not little; you're just a big old brute!"

Paul amusedly quirked an eyebrow. "If I'm old, that means you're just an itty-bitty puppy," he teased.

Ryan glowered at the man, poking a firm pectoral that he was eyelevel with. "That's _prince_ itty-bitty _alpha_ puppy to you, mister!"

Mirthfully laughing, Paul took a submissive bow before the prince. "Forgive me, your highness. I seem to have forgotten my place," he paused for a moment, a devilish smirk playing on his lips as his eyes sparkled with nefarious jubilance. "Will you punish me for my insolence? Perhaps a spanking is in order?"

Ryan balked, falling into a coughing fit from choking on his own tongue. "No," he gulped. "That's totally unnecessary."

Paul frowned. "Pity…"

Ryan pointed to the bedroom door as he sucked in a few quick breaths that were meant to settle him, but only served to make him dizzy. "I should, uh, you know, let you get settled now," he awkwardly said. "I'll just, um, be going… _yeah_," he mumbled, rushing for the door to bid his escape.

Paul's large hand caught the prince's slim wrist, halting the smaller wolf. "Or you could stay," he suggestively remarked, leading Ryan back toward the bed. "When was the last time I got to touch you like this, huh?" he sultrily queried, causing Ryan to openly gape at the man as Paul's gaze, full of sensuous desire, appraisingly roamed his imprint's body while slipping a hot hand up the side of the prince's plum purple tank top. "I kind of like how I can't remember what you look like naked, or even what your lips taste like. Everything feels like the first time all over again."

"Sh-shit, Paul," Ryan sputtered, hating how he had to push Paul's gentle, inquisitive fingertips off his greedy needy skin; the sudden rejection putting a woeful pout on lips that suddenly looked ridiculously kissable. "We've never…"

"…Had sex?" The wolf puzzled.

"We've never done anything. You've never felt anything for me romantically… you're not even gay, Paul."

Regardless of having noticed the pain on Ryan's face, Paul threw his head back in laughter like the prince had just said the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Who told you that?!" he guffawed.

"You did," Ryan muttered, eyes staring intently at the plaid boat shoes covering his tiny feet.

Paul's laughter died in his throat. "Oh…"

"Yeah, _oh_," Ryan bitterly parroted. He pointed to the door for a second time. "I should get going." This time Paul didn't try to stop him.

* * *

Edward, hunched over the mahogany desk he and his husband shared in their office, scoured Paul's medical records. He didn't exactly have permission to snoop, but he was also king so he didn't exactly need permission either. Edward didn't even know what he was looking for; he was just looking for something – _anything_ – that would make him feel better about Paul's release from the hospital. Of course, as it should have been predicted, cruising Paul's medical records only had the opposite effect. If anything, Edward had now convinced himself the wolf needed to be locked away with trained psychiatric professionals for an eternity or two.

"This is insane!" he vehemently proclaimed, flicking his eyes to the left where his husband sat scrolling through some popular website on the computer. Jacob was supposed to be working on important financial spreadsheets, yet was instead distracted by pictures of cats on the internet. "I told the doctors Paul shouldn't be released from the hospital. He suffered a severe traumatic brain injury for God's sake! He was in a coma for weeks! Given his history and his new cognitive state, shouldn't they have transferred Paul to a rehab facility? With his memories, or lack thereof, the way they are, I really do fear his reaction when they inevitably return – the doctors quite fervently insist they _will_ return; it's only a matter of time. Don't you think he should be placed in some sort of controlled environment, one where he and the people around him would be safe when he's first able to recall his past?"

Jacob laughed, not at the words his husband spoke, but at the orange tabby kitten on the computer screen curled in a small hand woven basket batting at a ball of red yard. "Look at this picture, baby. It's darling at fuck."

"Are you listening to me at all?" Edward queried, peeved, but not at all surprised.

Jacob turned the computer screen toward the vampire's view. "Look at the kitten, Eddie!" he insisted, grinning merrily at his gorgeous worrywart of an imprint. "Sweet as sugar, isn't it?"

Scowling, Edward glanced at the monitor and his frozen heart melted at the adorable sight... not that he'd ever admit it. "Jacob!" he snapped. "I don't care about a stupid fucking cat!"

The alpha king rolled his bistre brown eyes. "It's a kitten," he grumbled, scooting his wheeled office chair over the hardwood floor to Edward's side. "Don't be jealous, I think you're cute too. I think you're the cutest of all things cute. Dead fucking sexy too. _Literally_."

Edward hit Jacob's hand away when the wolf tried to pull him in for a kiss. "I'm not sucking your dick right now, not unless you want it bitten off!"

At least having the decency to appear offended, Jacob frowned. "You wound me."

"Oh, hush. The only time you compliment is when you want to put your cock in my mouth."

Gawping, Jacob shook his head. "That's not true."

"It's mostly true."

"Half true," Jacob contested. "And I don't see what you're complaining about. It's a win-win situation. You get your ego stroked, _and_ a King Jacob lollipop to suck on. What more could my beautiful imprint want?"

"This might shock you, Jake, but the world doesn't revolve around your dick. There's this thing called a sun…"

Jacob snorted in amusement, not at all convinced by his husband's feigned lack of interest. "Have I ever mentioned that you make a funny face when you lie to me? It's subtle, but…" He reached up, smoothing the little wrinkle on the bridge of Edward's nose. "It's definitely there."

Edward's cheeks paled, a telltale sign the man was blushing. "So maybe I think about you naked from time to time."

"Who're you trying to kid, pretty?" Jacob all but cooed, leaning in and brushing his lips against the smooth corner of his husband's perfect mouth. "You get weak in the knees at the mere thought of my cock," he whispered by a wintry ear, tongue trailing up its shell. "You got it for me bad."

Edward shook his head, amber eyes fluttering closed as Jacob gently took a hold of his face to keep him still. "Only sometimes," he breathily murmured.

"All the fuckin' time," Jacob crooned, his fingers slipping into Edward's wild auburn locks at the same time he pressed his hungry, heated lips to a chilly pair of vampiric ones.

Edward's moan wasn't at all subtle, nor was the way he practically fell into the wolf's lap in attempt to get closer. Edward straddled Jacob's waist who made quick work of Edward's ebony dress shirt, the clattering of pearl buttons hitting the floor dissuading neither. Edward lifted his arms, and Jacob immediately reacted by momentarily breaking their kiss to pull his husband's undershirt up and off his snowy-white torso. Jacob's mouth eagerly returned to Edward's, tongues entwining as Jacob appreciatively flattened his palms to Edward's stomach, gliding his hands over cold, taut, and gorgeously defined abdominals.

_"You're so fucking hot,"_ Jacob thoughts groaned. _"What a dilf!"_

Jacob growled his disapproval as Edward wrenched himself away from Jacob's tight hold, leaning back with his head cocked "What the hell is a dilf?" Edward asked, bewildered by the strange term.

The alpha's cheeks reddened, an odd look for such a confident wolf. Although, the hot blood behind the thin layer of flesh only made his husband want to nip, to draw blood and taste Jacob's sudden bout of insecurity. "DILF, it's an acronym: Dad I'd Like to Fuck." Jacob straightened his shoulders, holding them back and slightly puffing his chest in mock confidence. "And you, Ed, are a fuck-hot dad that I'd love to give the D to."

Edward sighed, fidgeting with the loose collar of Jacob's sleeveless t-shirt. "You sure do have a lovely way with words, hon. It is by God's grace alone that you haven't wooed the pants right off me."

Jacob crookedly grinned. "Some might say I'm the Shakespeare of the twenty-first century."

"Only you and the delusional…" Edward grumbled.

"Geez, baby, cut me some slack," Jacob huffed. "You're grumpy as hell today, and we both know that has little to no effect on my libido. If anything, it makes me want to fuck that frown right off that downright indecent face of yours. You're too beautiful for my own good, you know that, Ed? You can't fathom the licentious filth my mind conjures up from just a single glance from you."

Edward tapped the side of Jacob's head. "I'm in there twenty-four seven; there's not a single thought you've had in over a decade that I haven't heard."

Jacob scowled at his imprint, pushing him from his lap and into the other chair. "This is why we can't role play, _Edward_. You're a fucking killjoy."

The vampire king rolled his amber eyes as he crossed his arms over his bare chest. "I still don't understand why you want to pretend I'm someone else."

"Idiot, I don't want anybody but you. Though, sometimes I think it would be hot as hell to be a sexy fireman that saves the helpless and stunning Edward Black from a burning building. You'd be so thankful that you'd fall to your knees and swallow my cock whole. Know what else would be hot? If I was a wild wolf in the woods and an exquisite sparkling vampire stumbled upon me, coaxing my snarling, untrusting self into shifting – you'd then proceed to fuck the humanity back into me."

Edward shook his head, not at all enthused by either idea. "Neither of those scenarios seem at all plausible."

"Not with that attitude they're not!" Jacob exclaimed. "They're called fantasies for a reason. Don't you have any?"

Edward smiled meekly, hugging his arms around himself as he eyed his husband through thick fanning lashes. "You're my fantasy, Jake. I'm just one of the lucky ones whose fantasy is reality. Though, more often than not I have a hard time believing you're even real. I was just some lab rat before you… I still haven't a clue what I did to deserve all this," he said, motioning around the room. "You've given me everything the world has to offer. Sons, a husband, a kingdom…"

"Baby…" Jacob breathed, swivelling the chair to turn his back on his mate. "Shut your pretty mouth," he demanded while pressing the heels of his palms to his watery eyes. He swears it's just a fallen lash irritating them.

"Nothing compares to you," Edward quietly added.

"Shit," Jacob sniffled, refusing to even look at his imprint in fear of weeping like a puppy. "Nothing compares to you either, Eddie."

A few moments later a chilly hand landed upon Jacob's shoulder, manually turning his chair around. Edward was standing right in front of him, and the wolf didn't hesitate to bend forward a couple inches to wrap his brawny russet arms around Edward's contrasting waist. He also virtually purred as he nuzzled his face against his husband's cool belly. It was truly he who didn't and would never deserve the vampire. "I love you," he murmured, though some of feeling behind the words were lost when the wolf palmed his husband's cock. "God-fucking-dammit, do I ever love you."

Edward chuckled as he pushed Jacob's head lower, watching lasciviously as Jacob undid the belt buckle with his teeth. "Love you _so_ much," Edward barely managed to gasp as the alpha wolf's lips teased the rigid line of his shaft over the dark fabric of his slacks.

Edward heard the creak of the heavy wooden door open into the office before he heard the thoughts behind it. The vampire tried to scramble away from his husband, yet the wolf had a firm hold on Edward's hips and didn't at all want to let his beautiful mate go. Anyway, the alpha king doubted there was anybody in the palace who hadn't at some point caught him with his face buried between Edward's thighs – it was his favourite place to be after all.

Across the desk from the kings stood a wide eyed Paul, frozen like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. After a few painfully awkward beats, he shook his mind clear and stumbled backwards out of the room, profusely apologising along the way.

The slam of the door was hard enough to rattle windows and just the right distraction to enable Edward to dislodge himself from his husband. He glared down at the wolf as he buckled his belt. "Now look at what you did!"

"What I did?!" Jacob bellowed in retort, rising to his feet and pointing heatedly at his imprint. "That was all _your_ fault! If you weren't such an erotic piece of ass we'd never have this problem!"

"Ever heard of keeping your hands to yourself?" Edward snarled as he bent to snatch his undershirt off the floor. With the vampire's rear in the air, Jacob took the opportunity to roughly slap it. Edward yelped, bolting upright.

"You speak blasphemy!" the alpha roared. "Keep my hands to myself? Have you gone fucking mad?! I'd like to think that after fifteen years of marriage you'd know by now that that's never going to happen!"

"Whatever," Edward cattishly huffed, pulling his white undershirt over his head. "I need to find Paul to make sure he's okay."

Like a puppy, Jacob followed his husband to the door to bid the vampire goodbye. "The doctors sent him home because this is the environment he needs to be it. This is where he's safe," he told Edward, proving that he had heard him earlier.

The vampire sighed to himself, resting his weight on one foot as he gazed lovingly, but also worriedly into his Jacob's eyes. "But are you? He threatened your life."

"And he more than made up for it by nearly giving his own in exchange for yours. Besides, I doubt he can even remember being angry with me. I doubt he even remembers _me_ in general." Jacob paused for a moment, heart suddenly feeling like a breezeblock in his chest. "Does he remember me?"

Edward sadly frowned. "No, but I'm sure he would if you spent some time with him."

Jacob shook his head, trying to keep his melancholic thoughts hidden as he opened the door for his husband. "I don't want him to remember me. It's better for him if he doesn't."

"That isn't even remotely true."

"Paul's shitty life is a direct result of my negligence. There's no debating that."

Edward tightly gripped the wolf's shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. "Fate is a fickle bitch, Jake. There is nothing you could have done differently since that's just how it was supposed to happen. That doesn't pardon your actions, or your inactions for that matter. You get to keep the guilt, you get to feel the remorse, and you own it. You use the contempt for your misdeeds as fuel to make sure you never make the same mistake twice. Then you know what you do next? You forgive yourself, 'cause what else can you do?"

Nodding, Jacob gently pushed his imprint out the door. "Go take care of Paul for me."

Edward smiled at his husband, although it lacked any cheer. "I always will."

"Good," Jacob said, a sudden impish glimmer shining in his bistre brown eyes. "Try not to get him or our son shot this time."


	9. Chapter 9

Super short update, but we are well on our way to the fluffy good stuff!_  
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_Chapter Nine _

Edward strolled through the palace gardens in search of Paul, guards hanging back but keeping a close eye on the king. Edward didn't particularly like being followed around when at his own home or anywhere for that matter, but it was for Jacob's comfort. The alpha wolf had grown rightfully paranoid after the attack on his husband, and he wasn't about to risk the vampire's life a second time. If he personally had to handcuff his imprint to two other guards to make sure there was a guard on either side of Edward at all times, he most certainly would, which is way Edward didn't complain when a dozen or so hung back, mostly out of his sight, but definitely not out of mind. Their thoughts were abundant and rarely about the king under their watch. They tended to be about family, friends, and often times food or sex – it was all quite dull to Edward, and he instead focused on the chirps of birds around him.

The vampire king found his friend hidden amongst the palace gardens under the shade of a particularly large maple tree that a tire swing hung from. It felt like only yesterday it was tied to a thick branch after James had sheepishly asked for a swing a few weeks after being adopted. Edward had spent damn near half that summer and well into the following winter pushing the boy on that thing. Maybe at ten years of age the human was a little too old to be indulged in such things, but Edward truly couldn't help himself. The king had been happy with only one son, yet became utterly joyous when James joined his family. Despite Edward's enthusiasm, James never really fit. It was like trying to put together a puzzle, and James – the last piece remaining – had come from an entirely different box. The pieces didn't align, the picture didn't match, though luckily for James, that meant nothing to Edward. The king never cared for puzzles in the first place. They were too cut and dry, too black and white – it was paintings he loved, specifically ones of the abstract variety. When looking through that artistic lens, James didn't belong anywhere else but at home in the palace.

Edward wistfully sighed as he sat down beside Paul, wishing he could rewind time so he could push James on the swing once more. The wolf lazily, and rather contented lay on a patch of spongy grass, tiny blue wildflowers peeking through small stalks of green whilst Edward listened to the trickle of a koi pond in the near distance, the breeze blowing through the maple leaves above them, and the steady _thump_-_thump_-_thump_ of his best friend's heartbeat. After spending six weeks at Paul's bedside while he laid utterly motionless and practically lifeless without a single thought or image inside his mind when in a coma, it was a piece of heaven on earth to see Paul amongst nature with his mind active.

Edward looked down at his friend, Paul's navy blue t-shirt removed from his thick, muscular torso and folded across his eyes to block out the sunlight. Paul, belatedly aware of another's sudden company, raised a hand, lifting the corner of the shirt to peep at his visitor and smiled sincerely after catching sight of the king. With a tired groan, Paul sat himself upright while crossing his jean clad legs and tossing his shirt aside. "I swear I don't need a lecture. I've definitely learned my lesson. Always knock before entering," he playfully remarked. "_Always_."

"I really am sorry you had to see that," Edward apologized. "I wish I could tell you it won't happen again, but…" Knowing Jacob, and Edward's bad habit of being completely unable to deny his husband, it was bound to happen all the fucking time.

Paul chuckled and gave Edward's arm a friendly squeeze, seemingly understanding the vampire's unspoken words. "Don't worry about it, man. Better I see that than the pair of you fighting. At least this way I know you're happy, right?"

"Very happy," Edward assured him.

"Good," Paul said with an honest smile. "I'd hate to find out that I took a bunch of bullets for no good reason." Paul canted his head, appearing rather spirited. "I didn't particularly enjoy resembling Swiss cheese. Oh, and the flying lessons were shit too."

Edward nearly balked when vivid images of Paul recalling getting shot in the back and brutally tossed off Deception Pass into the frigid waters below assaulted his mind. Although, it was how the wolf's words contradicted the seriousness of memories that surprised him. It wasn't like Paul to make light of a bad situation. Nevertheless, that didn't change how Edward felt about it all. "I can't express how sorry I am, Paul. I know that's not enough. I won't ever be able to repay-"

"You're sorry?" the wolf interrupted, an eyebrow raised. "If anything, you should be flattered. Don't you dare think I'd subject myself to that for just any old king," Paul merrily teased, grinning like a fool as he lazily slung an arm around the vampire's wintry shoulders that were clad save for the skimpy undershirt barely covering them. The wolf pulled his friend in close, gazing at Edward intently. "So, I take it the dude that was about to blow you is your husband?" Edward nodded, cheeks paling. "He treats you like gold, yeah? Because, you know, I could throw a punch or two if the alpha has it coming, but from what I saw of him, I'm fairly certain he'd squash me like a bug if he got a hold of me."

Edward smiled fondly at his friend. "He's amazing, truly. You never need to worry where Jacob is concerned," he earnestly insisted. "Anyway, why did you come to the office? Did you need something?"

Paul nodded, sighing as his arm fell away from the vampire. The mood around them suddenly shifting to something unpleasantly melancholic. "Just to talk," he said, scooting a few feet away to lean his back against the thick trunk of the maple tree the pair lounged under.

Edward gazed at the wolf curiously. "Oh? What about?"

"Ryan. I'm a little confused about the nature of our relationship."

Edward furrowed his brow. "It's complicated, though it's always been platonic."

Paul nodded for a second time. "Right. Okay. See, I wasn't exactly aware of that when I may or may not have tried to initiate sex with Ryan." There was an awkward pause between the two men as they stared at one another, both like a dumbfounded deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"I'd like you to believe I was totally chaste with your son so you might kindly resist the urge to strangle me, but know somewhere deep in your subconscious that I tried to bang him and now I'm desperately seeking advice here since Ryan looked fucking _horrified _by my actions." Paul's expression turned pleading. "I'm pretty torn up about this to be honest. I don't care about the sex, I just… ugh, I thought he was mine, you know? Like _all_ mine. I'd built this life with him in my head… I mean, he was so clingy at the hospital. All hugs and kisses and praise – he made my heart melt like Frosty the goddamn Snowman in the summertime. For fuck's sake, the first thing I remember upon waking is this gorgeous prince kissing my face and holding my cheeks as he spoke about how much he loved me… about how much he'd been missing and worrying about me. Can you imagine that, Edward? Can you imagine how amazing that would be to wake to? I'm no sleeping fucking beauty, man, but there I was, happy as a clam and feeling like I was the main love interest in a modern day fairy tale."

Paul's shoulders slouched as he ducked his head out of sight and scrubbed his hands across his face with an unhappy groan. "I want Ryan back… but I never even had him the first place because, _apparently_, I've made it quite clear I'm not gay," his words were bitter, yet so were his feelings. He peeked up at Edward. "Everything is new and confusing for me still, yet the one thing I've been absolutely certain about these last few weeks is the attraction I have for my imprint. It never crossed my mind that we're both dudes, or that I'm a man and he's _not_ a woman. I'll be honest when I say it's his feminine qualities I find myself most attracted to, but I am very aware my imprint is male, and I'm perfectly okay with that."

Struggling to comprehend all that was said, Edward was at a complete loss for words. The wolf frowned. "Are you angry with me?" Paul questioned, and all the vampire king could do was shake his head no. "Is Ryan even gay, or at the very least bisexual?"

"He's gay," Edward stated, voice tremulous. He was trying desperately to collect himself and have some sort of coherent thought beyond: _Who the fuck is this wolf sitting in front of me?_

Relief settled on Paul's handsome features, his back straightening when the feeling of hopelessness alleviated. "Has Ryan ever mentioned having feelings for me? Do you think he'd consider me a potential mate?"

"You need to stop this, Paul," Edward earnestly demanded, scooting closer to his friend to place a cool hand on a warm knee. "You are _not_ yourself right now and I don't want Ryan hearing you talk like this. I don't want you giving him false hope."

The wolf's face contorted with confusion. "False hope?"

"You're a bigot," Edward said matter-of-factly.

"Excuse me?"

The vampire king sighed to himself, clumsily sweeping a hand through his hair. "You're a bigot, you're mean, and you even had the audacity to tell _my_ son that the marriage I have with his father is an abomination. You constantly belittled Ryan for his sexuality, and called him a whore or a slut when you didn't like what he was wearing or how he looked at other men. You drove away any potential pack mates or boyfriends so you could keep him all to yourself and preach your hate. You attacked people that just wanted to get to know him better, and you tried time and time again to sever the bond his has with his brother. But you want to know the worst part about it? There was not a damn thing I could do about it! That boy loves you fiercely, Paul, and we both know there's no separating a wolf, especially not an alpha, from the person they believe is their mate." Paul's eyes widened, mixed emotions tugging on his heart strings. Ryan believed him to be his mate?

The wolf fervently shook his head. "That's all wrong. That doesn't make any sense whatsoever. I would never talk badly about you or your marriage, and I definitely could _never_ treat Ryan like that."

"You can and you did," Edward snapped, and like stormy skies his amber eyes faded to black while he squeezed Paul's knee, the bone creaking beneath jean and copper toned skin as Paul winced in pain. "You will _not_ breathe a word to Ryan about what you've said here. I won't allow you to hurt him anymore than you already have, and if I allow you to pursue him, I know that's exactly what you'll do the second you recall the entirety of your past. I won't have that on my conscience, Paul."

"Don't be like that," the wolf beseeched, face lined with sorrow as he ignored the throb in his leg the king was causing. "Tell me why you think I would do that? Tell me what the hell is in my past that would change how I feel so drastically? I don't understand any of this, Edward. I don't understand why I can't have him."

A frown of grief marred the king's lips as he pulled his hand away from his friend's leg, looking anywhere but at the wolf's imploring gaze. "Listen to me when I say you _don't_ want to know." He flicked his eyes to Paul's, forcing himself to meet the wolf's line of sight. "If I had things my way, you'd never have to know," he said, heartache tainting each word. "If you trust me at all, if you respect my opinion even a little, you won't ask me or anybody else that question. When you're ready, you'll remember on your own." At least that's what Edward wanted to believe. His friend's memory would inevitably return, it was only a matter of time. How Paul would respond to such a devastating revelation, Edward hadn't the faintest clue. Although, he suspected the end result would not be pretty.

Paul nodded, expression softening. "If that's what you want me to do, then that's what I'll do." A fiery blaze of confidence shone behind his soulful eyes, the strength of it stiffening his broad shoulders as he continued. "But when it comes to Ryan, you're opinion means very little to me. If what you said is true, if he believes me to be his mate, that means I am his, he is mine, and you can go fuck yourself!" The second those angry curse words escaped between his lips something akin to murderous intent gleamed in the vampire's ebony gaze. "God fuck yourself, _please_…" Paul reiterated, like manners would actually rectify the situation. "And thank you, your grace."

Paul fixedly watched a slew of emotions cross Edward's face, the vampire appearing particularly perturbed, though also somewhat impressed. "If you love my son as much as I think you're implying, you'll put up with my disproval, and likely Jacob's as well. You'll fight tooth and nail for Ryan, you'll treat him how he deserves to be treated, and when the time comes and your memories return, I want you to prove me wrong, Paul. Then, and only then, will you have my blessing."


End file.
